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I10.6   RELIGIOUS 

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9 


EDGAR  S  WERNER; 

NEW  YORK 


'^mmm 


Published  by    • 

EDGAR  S.WERNER  &CO, 

NEW  YORK 


)RGE  RIDDLE 


Copyright,  isol':  by  Edgar  S.   Werner      ' 


Home  Study  in  Elocution 

"Emma  Dunning  Banks's  Original 
Recitations  with  Lesson-Talks." 

These  poems  written  especially  for  recitation.  Many  of 
them  have  taken  prizes.  Every  Banks  poem  has  a  lesson, 
directions  being-  given  for  voice  and  action-work.  Book  is 
a  self-instructor  and  affords  teachers  valuable  hints  for 
teaching  pupils.  Every  purchaser  gets  thirty-five  lessons 
in  elocution  in  addition  to  excellent  original  recitations. 
Book  is  serviceable  to  those  unable  to  get  elocutionary  in- 
struction at  home.  Selections  afford  opportunities  for 
poses,  bird-tones  and  other  vocal  effects.  Pupil  is  not  both- 
ered with  arbitrary  rules,  but  is|  taught  in  few  and  plain 
words  essential  points  of  piece  he  is  learning,  so  every 
recitation  is  a  valuable  lesson  in  elocution. 
LIST  OF  PIECES: 

N.  B. — Pieces  marked  with  an  asterisk   (*)   have  Lesson- 
Talks. 


*Mein     Katrine's    Brudder 

Hans 
*Memorial  Day  at  the  Farm 

Mercantile   Transaction 
•Money  Musk 
*Mother's   Easter   Scarf 

Off  for   Slumber-Land 
*01d,    Old   Story 
*One    Thanksgiving   Day   Out 
West 

Only  Playing 

Pat   and   the   Yankee 
*Pride   of  Battery   B 
*Prince    Eric's    Christ-Maid 
*Princess  Imra  and  the  Goat- 
herd 
•Quart  of  Milk 
'Roman   "Valentine 
*Russian   Christmas 
Tern-  *Ruthie's    Faith    in    Prayer 

Society   Flirtation 

Soldier's  Joy 


Abou  Ben  Adhem 
*Aline's  Love  Song 
*Aunt  Rhody's  Dream 

Basting  Thread 

Battle    Cry 
•Bridget's  Mission  Jug 

Country  Dancing 
•Diamond    Cut    Diamond 
•Dot's     Christmas,     or,     The 

Sober   Hat 
*Elf    Child 
•Emma   Dunning    Banks's 

Medley 
•Flibbertygibbet    and   Me 
*Flossie    Lane's    Marriage 
*Flying   Jim's   Last   Leap 
*For    the     Slumber    Islands, 
Ho! 

Funny  Story 
•Grandma     Robbins's 
perance  Mission 

Her    Name 

His   Mother's   Cooking  *Spinning-Wheel    Song 

•How    Congress    Fought    for  *Squeeze   in  the  Dark 


Sheridan 
Kittens   and   Babies 
•Laureame:      The     Marble 

Dream 
•Legend  of  Rose  Sunday 
Lesson  of  Obedience 
Little   Boy   Blue 
Man's   Story 


Statue   in  Clay 
•St.    Valentine's   and  St.   Pat- 
rick's   Day 
*Tit  for   Tat 

Total  Annihilation 
•Two    Thanksgiving    Dances 

Valentine 
•Van  Bibber's  Rock 


AH  of  the  above-named  pieces  in  one  cloth-bound  book 
sent  for  SI. 75 


EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  CO..  11  East  14th  St..  N.  Y. 


WERNER'S 


Readings  and  Recitations 


No.  6< 


Compiled  and  Arranged  by 


ELSIE   M.   WILBOR 


New  York 
EDGAR  S.   WERNER  &  CO. 


Copyright,  1802,  by  Edgar  S.  Wernei 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/forreligiousocca06wilb 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Annunciation,  The. — Adelaide  Anne  Procter 135 

Arnold  at  Stillwater. — Thomas  Dunn  English 115 

Battle  of  Lepanto,  The 120 

Becalmed  at  Sea. — Samuel  K.  Cowan •  81 

Bee's  Sermon,  The 50 

Boy's  Composition  on  Breathing,  A 64 

Casualty,  A 68 

Challenge,  The. — Roger  Atkinson  Pryor 16 

Charity. — R.  W.  Lanigan 60 

Childish  Fancy,  A 41 

Christ  Child,  The.— Elsie  M.  Wilbor 1 

Christmas  Flowers. — Adelaide  Anne  Procter 179 

Christmas  Sheaf,  The.— Mrs.  A.  M.  Tomlinson 166 

Consternation 162 

Cordelie.— Brother  Paul,  O.  S.  F 168 

Dandelions,  The 43 

Day  Too  Late,  A.— Magdalen  Rock 133 

December.— Rt.  Rev.  W.  C.  Doane 132 

Down  in  the  Strawberry  Bed 128 

Drummer  Boy  of  Kent,  The 84 

Elixir  of  Life,  The.— William  McGill 118 

Encore 22 

Friar  Servetus. — Clifford  Lanier 53 

Funeral  of  the  Mountains,  The. — Fred  Emerson  Brooks 65 

Harvest  Drill. — Arr.  by  Sara  S.  Rice 44 

How  They  Caught  the  Panther.— Rev.  Alfred  J.  Hough 7 

Ivory  Crucifix,  The.— G.  H.  Miles 42 

Japanese  Parasol  and  Fan  Drill. — Mrs.  Mary  L.  Gaddess 11 

King's  Bell,  The ! 59 

King's  Joy-Bells,  The.— Mrs.  Kate  A.  Bradley 99 

Lady  Hildegarde,  The -. 90 

Lass  Dorothy 48 

Legend  of  the  Heather 112 

Legend  of  the  Lily,  The. — Annie  Wall 52 

Legend  of  the  Missions,  The  — Lee  C.  Harby 76 

Lesson  in  Weighing,  A. — Charles  R.  Talbot 147 

Trfe's  Day.  Tableau  Recitation. — Mrs.  Mary  L.  Gaddess ........     31 

Little  Pilgrim,  A 125 

Little  Tin  Cup,  The.— Thomas  Frost     46 

Long  Ago.— Mrs.  Libbie  C.  Baer 172 

Madonna  at  Palos.— Mabel  E.  Hughes 182 

Monks'  Magnificat,  The.—  E.  Nesbit 54 

Mother's  Hymns.— Emily  G.  Weatherbee 28 

My  Twentieth  Birthday.— M   K 123 

Nightingale,  The.— Louis  E.  Van  N  oi  man .......,'.', '. ,' .' ,' .' . .' .' .' .' .' .  lei 

"Werner's   Readings   No.    6, 

.  in, 

do 

r- 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 
No 51 

Orphan's  Dream  of  Christmas,  The 38 

Palmer's  Vision,  The.— Josiah  Gilbert  Holland 70 

Rabbi  and  the  Prince,  The. — James  Clarence  Harvey 30 

Rescued 173 

Rodney's  Ride. — Elbridge  8.  Brooks 136 

Saint  Anthony.— Mrs.  E.  W.  Latimer 140 

Saint  Patrick  and  the  Impostor. — Aubrey  De  Vere 95 

Saint  Ursula. — John  Ruskin 129 

Santa  Claus .  25 

Shakespearean  Perversion,  A 10 

Sicilian  Captive,  The. — Mrs.  Felicia  Hemans 1 50 

Somebody's  Boy 102 

Something  Great.— F.  Tyler 63 

Song  of  the  Locomotive,  The 104 

Song  of  the  Wind,  The 175 

Tale  of  the  Terrible  Fire 61 

Telemachus.— G.  M.  Sheldon , 87 

Tennis  Drill. — Mrs.  Mary  Drew  Wilson 157 

Thanksgiving  Eve 174 

Three  Little  Kittens 9 

Three  Missions,  The. — Mrs.  Loula  Kendall  Rogers 72 

Tintamarre,  The. — Julia  M.  Ryan 12 

Tree-Tise  on  Nature,  A. — Louis  H.  Levin '. 23 

Turn  of  the  Tide,  The.— Rose  Kavanagh 164 

Two  Brothers,  The 124 

Two  Chimneys,  The. — Philip  Burroughs  Strong 114 

Unseen  Yet  Seen 35 

Vesper  Bell,  The.— Eugene  Davis 89 

Virgin  with  the  Bells,  The. — Austin  Dobson 93 

Vision  of  St.  Dominic,  The 15 

Vision  of  Handel,  The.— P.  L.  Blatchford  109 

Way,  The.— William  Steele  Shurtleff 86 

What  Echo  Said 107 

What  is  To-morrow  ? 178 

What  Lottie  Saw  — E.  L.  Brown 163 

When  Old  Jack  Died. — James  Whitcomb  Riley 101 

When  Washington  Was  President.— Robert  J.  Burdette 29 

White  Hearse,  The .  „ 106 

Why  the  Robin's  Breast  is  Red. — James  R.  Randall 67 

"  Will  My  Soul  Pass  Through  Ireland  ?  "—Dennis  O'Sullivan 146 

William  tell  and  His  Son.— Martha  J.  Nott 78 

Work  That  is  Best,  The.— Carlotta  Perry 138 

Wreck  of  the  Solent,  The. — Frederic  Lyster 176 

Writing  on  the  Image,  The. — William  Morris 17 


INDEX    TO    AUTHORS. 


PAGE. 

3aer,  Mrs.  Libbie  C 172 

Slatchford,  P.  L 109 

Sradley,  Mrs.  Kate  A 99 

Srooks,  Elbridge  S 136 

Brooks,  Fred  Emerson 65 

brother  Paul,  O.  S.  F 168 

iuruetle,  KuUerD  J 29 

Srown,  E.  L 163 

}owan,  Samuel  K 81 

Javis,  Eugene 89 

)e  Vere,  Aubrey 95 

)oane,  Kt.  Rev.  W.  C 132 

)obson,  Austin 93 

Cnglish,  Thomas  Dunn , 115 

'rost,  Thomas 46 

J-addess,  Mrs.  Mary  L 11,     31 

larby,  Lee  C 76 

larvey,  James  Clarence „ 30 

lemans,  Mrs.  Felicia 150 

lolland,  Josiah  Gilbert 70 

lough,  Rev.  Alfred  J 7 

Lughes,  Mabel  E 182 

iavanagh,  Rose 164 

janier,  Clifford 53 

anigan,  R.  W 60 

,atimer,  Mrs.  E.  W 140 

evin,  Louis  H 23 

yster,  Frederic 176 

fcGill,  William 118 

liles,  G.  H 42 

lorris,  William 17 

^esbit,  E 54 

Jott,  Martha  J 78 

VSullivan,  Dennis 1 46 

>erry,  Carlotta 138 

Jrocter,  Adelaide  Anne 135,  179 

'ryor,  Roger  Atkinson 16 

Werner's  Readings   No.    6. 
V. 


vi  INDEX-  TO  AUTHORS. 


PAG 


Randall,  James  R 

Rice,  Sara  S 

Riley,  James  Whitcomb 1 

Rock,  Magdalen 1 

Rogers,  Mrs.  Loula  Kendall 

Ruskin,  John 1 

Ryan,  Julia  M 

Sheldon,  G.  M 

Shurtleff,  William  Steele 

Strong,  Philip  Burroughs 1 

Talbot,  Charles  R 1 

Tomlinson,  Mrs   A.  M 1> 

Tyler,  F 

Van  Norman,  Louis  E 1 

Wall,  Mrs.  Annie 

Weatherbee,  Emily  G „ 

Wilbor,  Elsie  M 

Wilson,  Mrs.  Mary  Drew : 


WERNER'S 

Readings  and  Recitations. 


No.  6. 


THE   CHRIST  CHILD. 


ELSIE    il.    WILBOR. 


.  [One  of  the  most  beautiful  legends  of  Germany  is  the  legend  of  the  Christ 
'5hild — not  the  word  Christ  Child  as  we  commonly  understand  it,  synonymous 
\tith  Kriss  Kringle,  Santa  Claus,  or  "St.  Nick,"  but  Child  from  Christ. 
)nce  a  year,  at  the  instant  that  Christmas  morn  dawns,  the  Christ  Chil^  hov- 
rs  over  the  earth.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  child  sent  by  Christ,  and  selected 
rom  the  children  that  have  died  during  the  year.  It  stays  but  a  moment,  and 
5  visible  only  to  the  pure  in  heart.  Thosn  persons  that  see  it  are  specially 
lessed  throughout  the  ensuing  year;  and  if  a  wish  be  made  while  the  vision 
ists,  it  will  be  granted.] 

rT^AEL  KEAEMEE  had  not  walked  for  two  years.  Not  because 
L-^  he  did  not  want  to,  oh,  no  !  He  had  thought  over  again 
nd  again  his  few  possessions,  and  would  gladly  have  given  up  all 
f  them  to  regain  this  pleasure.  He  had  even  reckoned  his  little 
rother  Hans  among  his  belongings,  and  had  decided  to  part  with 
im  as  a  last  resort;  though,  if  his  decision  could  have  been 
rought  to  a  test,  Karl  would  have  remained  lame  forever  rather 
han  lose  Hans. 

Two  years  were  a  long  time  for  a  once  active  boy  to  keep  still ; 
or  in  all  those  weary  months  he  had  moved  only  to  be  carried  from 
he  bed  to  the  window,  except  on  rare  occasions  when,  with  his 
rutch  under  one  arm  and  mother  steadying  him  by  the  other  arm, 
e  had  jerked  himself  along  for  a  few  feet  to  his  big  chair.  But 
hese  occasions  grew  less  and  less  frequent,  and  four  months  had 
assed  since  the  crutch  had  been  taken  down. 

To-day,  a  bright  December  day,  Karl  lay  thinking  over  for  the 
ve-hundredth  time  the  scene  of  the  accident  that  had  deprived 


2  WERNER'S  READINGS 

him  forever  from  being  like  other  boys.  Every  detail  of  tha 
afternoon  came  back  to  him.  Again  he  heard  his  comrades  shout 
ing:  "Karl,  Karl,  come  to  the  ice."  Unconsciously  his  fee 
twitched  under  the  coverlid  in  response  to  the  call.  How  th< 
ground  fled  from  his  step  in  the  merry  race  to  be  the  first  to  toucl 
the  large  stone  at  the  head  of  the  pond,  and  so  be  made  leader  o 
the  afternoon's  sports ! 

"Ha-ha,  I  am  here  ;"  and  he  hurried  on  his  skates  for  a  tri] 
over  the  ice  and  back  before  Otto  and  Louis  came,  just  to  stretcl 
the  knots  out  of  his  legs  after  their  cramped  position  under  a  schoo 
desk  all  day. 

"Hurrah  !  I'm  off  I"  he  shouted,  and  started,  putting  all  hi1 
strength  into  the  start.     That  first  move— he  knew  no  more. 

From  that  instant  all  was  blank  to  him  until  he  opened  his  eye 
•and  taw  his  mother's  frightened  face  looking  down  at  him.  H| 
m0ved— oh,  the  pain  !  What  did  it  mean  ?  Then  they  told  hiri 
that  his  skate-strap  had  broken,  and  that  he  had  fallen  backwari 
over  a  stone — the  very  one  he  had  been  so  eager  to  touch ;  anc 
later,  they  told  him  what  he  scarcely  realized  then,— that  he  coul 
never  walk  again. 

Since  then,  all  the  days  were  alike  ;  but  the  last  few  weeks  ha 
been  so  full  of  suffering  that  Karl  wondered  how  it  would  feel  t 
have  no  pain  for  one  whole  hour.  This  thought  seemed  to  brin 
another,  for  his  face  suddenly  brightened. 

"  The  Christ  Child  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  could  I  have  fo: 
gotten  that  for  two  years  !  I  will  try  to  see  it  and  wish— wish  thj 
I  may  be  ill  no  more/' 

From  that  moment  the  idea  never  left  him.  He  thought  of 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  day,  and  dreamed  of  it  through  tl 
longer  hours  of  the  night.  It  seemed  as  if  Christmas  eve  wou1 
never  come.  The  only  thing  that  troubled  him  was  the  thoug 
that  perhaps  he  had  not  been  good  enough  to  see  the  Christ  Chih 
Once  he  asked  his  mother  in  a  pleading,  half  frightened  tone  : 

"  Mother,  have  I  been  a  good  boy  this  year  ?  I  don't  mean  got 
all  my'life,  but  just  this  year." 

His  mother,  with  a  vague  feeling  of  alarm,  replied  : 


AND  RECITATIONS.  3 

1 

"Why,  Karlie  boy,  of  course  you've  been   good.      You  were 
ever  very  naughty  like  most  boys,  dear,  but  you  are  almost  an 
jugel  now.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

l     But  Karl  made  no  answer,  for  her  words  had  lifted  him  away 
rom  the  earth  to  the  bright  somewhere,  where  the  Christ  Child 

welt. 

It  was  Christmas  eve.  A  feeling  of  happy  secrecy  was  in  the 
ery  air.  The  last  pan  of  cookies,  each  with  a  figure  of  Santa 
jJlaus  on  the  top,  had  been  taken  from  the  oven.  Mother's  loving 
'  mgers  had  knit  the  last  stitch  in  the  bright  red  comforter  for  Hans, 
(nd  her  tender  eyes  had  dropped  their  last  tear  on  the  warm,  home- 
nade  slippers  for  the  dear  invalid.  Hans  could  hardly  wait  till 
norning  to  give  Karl  the  rabbit  that  he  had  worked  so  hard  to  earn. 
IE  had  often  heard  Karl  wish  for  some  pet  to  amuse  him,  and  the 
Rabbit  would  be  just  the  thing. 

"  It  is  so  cunning,  I  know  he'll  like  it.  And  then,"  reasoned 
vise  little  Hans,  "  I  can  play  with  it,  too,  so  it  will  be  a  present  to 
Doth  of  us.  There's  nothing  else  that  I  could  give  Karl  and 
aave  some  of  it  myself,  unless  it  is  cake,  and  he  might  eat  all 
if  that ;  then  I  wouldn't  have  any  of  my  present  after  all  !" 

Karl,  too,  had  his  secret ;  but  no  one  dreamed  of  the  happy 
thoughts  that  chased  each  other  through  his  mind. 

"  Won't  they  be  surprised  when  I  jump  out  of  bed  to-morrow 
morning,  before  it's  light,  and  run  around  wishing  them  a  merry 
Christmas  !  The  little  mother  will  like  it  better  than  any  present 
I  can  give  her." 

Poor  Karl  !  he  did  not  stop  to  think  that  he  was  too  weak  to 
walk,  even  if  he  were  not  crippled.  He  was  still  planning  surprises 
when  his  mother  came  to  tuck  him  up  for  the  night. 

*'  Oh,  mother,  I  feel  so  much  better  to-night  !"  wincing,  as  he 
spoke,  at  a  terrible  dart  of  pain. 

"Ah,  Karlie,  if  I  could  only  believe  that  you  were  really  better, 
it  would  indeed  be  a  happy  Christmas  for  me,"  and  his  mother 
stroked  back  the  fair  hair. 

"But  I  am  really  better  ;  you  shall  see,"  said  Karl,  bravely 
trying  to  imagine  that  he  was  very  much  better.     "And  now, 


4  WERNER'S  READINGS 

mother,  will  you  give  me  my  crutch  ?  I  want  it  beside  me  to 
night— just  to-night ;  and  please  roll  my  bed  near  the  window 
Please/'  he  pleaded,  as  his  mother  hesitated  ;  "you  will  know  whi 
in  the  morning." 

So  the  crutch  was  laid  beside  him,  and  the  bed  moved  to  when 
a  great,  bright  star  looked  right  down  into  Karl's  happy,  tirec 
face. 

"Good-night,  mother  dear,  good-night,"  he  whispered,  hug 
ging  her  tight.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  robbing  her  in  keeping 
the  happy  secret  to  himself,  and  so  he  hugged  her  the  tightei 
to  make  amends.  "  We  shall  all  be  very  happy  to-morrow  shan'l 
we?" 

"  Yes,  dearie ;  are  you  in  pain  ?  "  she  added,  noticing  a  drawr 
look  on  his  face. 

' '  No,  not  much,  only  so  tired.  I  shall  be  all  right  in  the  morn; 
ing,"  he  added  eagerly,  to  reassure  her.  "Good-night,  little 
mother  ;  "  and  his  mother  kissed  him  and  hurried  from  the  room 
to  hide  her  tears. 

Karl  was  alone.  The  last  night  of  suffering  had  come  after  sc 
many  days  of  waiting.  The  clock  struck  nine.  Through  the  half,1 
opened  door  he  could  see  that  the  light  was  burning  brightly,  and 
he  heard  the  creak  of  his  mother's  chair  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro^ 
He  tried  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  wish  he  would  make  when  the 
Christ  Child  appeared;  but  his  thoughts  wandered  aimlessly1 
hither  and  thither,  touching  now  on  happy,  then  on  sad  memories. 
Now  it  was  the  medal  that  the  good  priest  had  given  him  for  his 
drawings.  He  could  feel  the  pat  on  the  head,  and  hear  the  kind 
voice  saying  :  '<  If  you  keep  on  you  will  yet  be  an  artist,  my  little 
man;  your  work  is  very  good."  How  his  heart  beat  at  the 
thought ! 

Then  he  thought  of  the  time  that  Hans  fell  into  the  brook  and 
was  brought  home  almost  dead.  How  white  and  strange  his  face 
looked,  and  how  cold  the  baby  hand  felt  when  he  touched  it !  As 
he  thought  of  this  a  chill  passed  over  him  like  the  icy  touch  of 
Hans's  hand  again,  and  somehow  it  stayed— he  could  not  shake 
it  off. 


! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  5 

The  clock  struck  ten.     He  heard  his  mother  push  back  her 

lair  and  move  about  preparing  for  bed.     Then  came  voices;  it 

as  Hans  moaning  in  his  sleep,  as  he  often  did,  and  his  mother 

othing  him.     How  far  off  it  seemed  !     It  was  almost  like  hearing 

story  read.      Then  the  light  grew  dim  and   all  was  still — the 

ouse   was  asleep.     The  great,   bright   star,    sunk   lower  in   the 

havens,  seemed  to  look  more  friendly  at  Karl.     It  seemed  nearer 

>  him  than  it  had  ever  been  before.     Perhaps  it  was  the  chariot 

aiting  for  the  Christ  Child.     Or  perhaps  it  was  his  sister,  who 

ad  died  just  after  his  injury,  watching  to  see  him  made  well. 

Hiy  had  he  not  thought  of  her  before  ?     It  had  been  a  long  time 

nee  her  name  had  crossed  his  lips ;  he  would  say  it  just  to  hear 

ow  it  sounded.     "  Lena,"  he  called  softly  ;  and  the  star  seemed 

)  smile  and  draw  nearer  at  the  word.     He  listened  for  his  name  in 

ssponse — 

The  clock  struck  eleven.     How  drowsy  he  was  getting  !     What 

he  should  fall  asleep  and  miss  the  Christ  Child  !     He  would 

ing  very  low  so  as  to  disturb  no  one.     He  chose  the  hymn  begin- 

ing: 

"  Gepreiset  seist  du  Jesu  Christ, 
Dass  nun  der  Tag  erschienen  ist." 

"  Praised  be  Christ  our  Saviour 
That  now  the  day  has  come." 

It  sounded  very  sweet  and  full  of  meaning,  for  the  day  would 
ioon  come,  and  oh,  what  a  happy  day  for  all !  Just  then  his 
land  touched  the  crutch. 

"Poor  old  crutch  ;  you  have  had  a  lonely,  dull  life  since  you 
iame  to  me,  but  you  will  soon  be  free,  for  I  shall  be  well  to-morrow. 
Do  you  hear  ?  I  shall  be  well.  But  I  shan't  forget  you  even 
hough  I  don't  have  to  use  you  any  more.  You  shall  hang  right  by 
;he  window  where  you  can  see  me  at  play,  running  and  jumping  like 
:he  other  boys.  And  I  will  tie  a  ribbon  on  you,  a  bright  red  ribbon, 
aood-bye,  old  crutch.  Now  I  must  watch  for  the  Christ  Child; 
jood-bye." 


6  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Karl  turned  his  face  toward  the  window.  "  It  must  be  almoi 
twelve  o'clock,"  he  murmured,  "and  then  I  shall  be  well.  V 
count  the  ticks  :  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight- 
the  clock  never  ticked  so  slowly.  I  believe  it  is  trying  to  mak 
twelve  o'clock  late,  just  as  I  used  to  be  late  at  school  sometimes. 

His  thoughts  were  becoming  incoherent.  Just  then  there  wa 
a  whirring  sound  in  the  machinery  and  the  clock  began  to  strike 
Karl  scarcely  breathed  in  his  excitement,  as  he  watched  the  twink 
ling  sky  to  see  it  open  for  the  Christ  Child. 

A  shimmering,  undefinable  something  approached.  Nearer  an 
nearer  it  came,  shaping  itself  as  it  spe'd  toward  the  earth  into 
being  of  glorious  beauty.  Midway  in  the  air  it  stopped,  with  wing 
outspread  and  fluttering,  throwing  myriad  rays  of  light  upon  th 
unconscious  world.  One  ray  fell  near  Karl,  lighting  his  pale  fac 
with  a  strange  glory.  With  a  great  effort  he  raised  himself  and 
stretching  out  his  arms  toward  the  figure,  cried  :  "  Make  me  well 
0  Christ  Child,  make  me  well  \"  and  sunk  back  on  the  pillow. 

For  an  instant,  the  radiance  of  the  vision  filled  the  tiny  room 
making  all  things  bright  as  day,  and  a  strange,  white,  winge 
shape — was  it  a  soul  ? — floated  through  the  window  and  upward  o 
the  path  of  light.  Then  the  brightness  faded  out,  and  the  root 
seemed  darker  and  stiller  than  ever  before.  The  great,  bright  sta 
still,  shone,  but  other  eyes  beheld  it ;  it  had  sunk  beneath  th 
horizon. 

Christmas  morning  dawned  bright  and  cold.  Mrs.  Kraeme 
was  astir  early,  but  she  did  not  waken  Karl.  She  was  very  glad  t 
have  him  sleep,  and  he  seemed  resting  so  quietly,  with  his  fac 
turned  toward  the  window.  Perhaps  he  really  was  getting  better 
and  happy  thoughts  came  fast  as  she  planned  what  should  be  don 
when  he  was  well. 

The  clock  striking  seven  roused  her  from  the  pleasant  reverie 
She  would  go  in  and  see  if  Karl  were  covered  up,  lie  was  so  restles 
some  nights.  She  crossed  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and  peeped  over  a 
his  face  to  be  sure  that  he  was  really  asleep,  for  he  sometimes  mad 
believe,  so  as  to  throw  his  arms  around  he*'  suddenly  for  a  surprise 
Something  in  his  expression  startled  her ;  he  had  never  looked  s< 


AND  RECITATIONS.  7 

strangely  on  other  mornings.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  brow — it 
was  icy  cold  ! 

"Karl  I" she  screamed,  "Karl,  speak  to  me,  Karl  !  Oh,  what 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

Then,  like  a  flash  of  light,  something  came  to  her.  She  bowed 
her  head  as  though  from  a  blow,  and  whispered  : 

"It  is  all  plain  now.     He  has  seen  the  Christ  Child. " 


HOW  THEY  CAUGHT  THE  PANTHER. 


ALFKED  J.  HOUGH. 


TT  was  early  in  the  summer,  and  the  school  was  near  its  close 
-*-    Down  at  Shady  Rill;  the  children  sat  upon  the  seats  in  rows, 
Conning  well  their  morning  lessons,  only  pausing  to  annoy, 
More  in  youthful  sport  than  malice,  Eddie  Royce,  the  cripple  boy. 

Ou  the  outskirts  of  the  hamlet,  not  a  dwelling-place  in  sight, 
Near  a  stream  and  grove  of  maples,  stood  the  schoolhouse,  painted 

white. 
There  were  stories  that  a  panther  had  been  seen,  and  every  day 
Some  one  lost  a  lamb  from  pasture  in  a  strange,  mysterious  way. 
Curious  tracks  were  traced  on  highways,  paths  the  cattle  loved  to 

take, 
Smaller  than  a  bear's  foot  outlines,  larger  than  a  dog  could  make. 

Doors  were  opened  wide  that  morning,  windows  lifted,  and  the  air, 
Sweet  as  our  Green  Hills  can  make  it,  fondled  with  the  children's 

hair. 
Rose,  the  teacher,  moved  to  signal  class,  Third  Reader,  to  the  floor, 
But  a  glance  out  through  a  window  sent  her  to  the  entry  door ; 
Swift  she   closed  it,   locked   and  barred   it,   shut   the   windows, 

dropped  the  blinds, 
While  the  children  watched  her  movements  with  strange  looks  and 

troubled  minds. 


8  WERNER'S  READINGS 

" Children/'  then  she  said  in  whispers,   "you  must  promise  to 

behave 
Like  grown  people  here  this  morning,  sitting  still  and  calm  and 

brave, 
For  I  saw,  and  ought  to  tell  you,  what  may  be  the  panther  near  ; 
But,  shut  in  and  sitting  quiet,  we  are  safe  and  need  not  fear." 
Then  the  house  (Rose  told  the  story)  grew  as  silent  as  a. tomb; 
Nothing  but  the  clock  tick,  ticking  could  be  heard  all  through  the 

room. 
Soon  a  low,  deep  growl  assured  them  of  the  panther's  presence  near, 
And  the  birds  and  cattle  answered  with  their  notes  and  tones  of 

fear. 
Round  and  round  the  house  the  creature  snuffing,  growling,  pressed 

his  way, 
Then  before  the  entry  doorstep  stretched  himself  as  if  to  stay. 
Silent,  motionless,  scarce  breathing,  anxiously  the  children  sat, 
And  while  Rose  was  vainly  seeking  this  way  of  escape  and  that, 
Eddie  Royce  came  near  and  whispered  plans  that  she  at  once  ap- 
proved. 
Then  in  silence  round  the  schoolroom  calm  and  cautiously  he 

moved, 
Gathered  from  the  pails  the  luncheons,  passed  out  through  the 

inner  door 
To  the  entry,  spread  the  biscuits,  meat,  pie,  cheese,  upon  the  floor, 
Then  unbarred,  unlocked  and  lightly  drew  the  outside  door  a 

slight 
Space  ajar,  crept  to  the  schoolroom,  closed  its  door  and  locked  it 

tight, 
Listening,  till  he  heard  the  panther  in  the  entry  with  the  food. 
At  a  signal  Rose,  the  teacher,  who  the  whole  plan  understood, 
Raised  a  window,  lifted  Eddie,  kissed  and  passed  him  to  th© 

ground, 
Watched  him  till  his  form  had  vanished— then  deep  silence — then 

a  sound  ; 
Eddie  had  the  panther  prisoned  in  the  entry  snug  and  tight, 
"While,  in  perfect  order,  passing  through  the  windows  left  and  right 


AND  RECITATIONS.  9 

Forth  the  children  ran  and  gathered  to  the  schoolhouse  half  a 

score 
Of  well-armed  men,  while  Rose,  the  teacher,  helping  Eddie,  held 

the  door. 
Light  fell  on  the  entry  shining  through  side  windows,  high  and 

small ; 
One  contained  a  pane  some  scholar  had  once  broken  with  a  ball. 
After  much  discussing,  planning,  Joe  Lavene,  the  best  shot  there, 
With  a  steady  nerve  and  ready  anything  to  do  or  dare, 
Climbed  a  woodpile,  placed  his  rifle  through  the  broken  window- 
pane, — 
Down  the  panther  dropped  next  instant  with  a  bullet  in  his  brain. 
Joe  stood  watching  as  he  struggled  on  the  floor  fast  growing  red, 
Then  he  turned  and  coolly  stated,  •'  He's  a  big  one,  but  he's  dead." 
So,  through  Eddie's  manly  courage,  and  with  Joe's  unerring  skill, 
That  is  how  they  killed  the  panther,  children,  down  at  Shady  Rill. 


THREE    LITTLE   KITTENS. 


A   TKUE   STORY. 


rpHREE  little  kittens,  so  downy  and  soft, 

-*-     Were  cuddled  up  by  the  fire, 

And  two  little   children  were  sleeping  aloft, 

As  cosy  as  heart  could  desire ; 
Dreaming  of  something  ever  so  nice, 
Dolls  and  sugar-plums,  rats  and  mice. 

The  night  wore  on,   and  the  mistress  said, 

"I  am  sleepy,   I  must  confess, 
And  as  kitties  and  babies  are  safe  in  bed, 

I'll  go  to  bed,   too,   I  guess." 
She  went  upstairs,  just  a  story  higher, 
While  the  kittens  slept  by  the  kitchen  fire, 


10  WERNER'S  READINGS 

« What  noise  can  that  be  ?"  the  mistress  said. 
"Meow!  meow  I"    "I'm  afraid 
A  poor  kitty- cat's  fallen  out  of  bed  ! 
The  nice  little  nest  I  made  !" 
tfMeow!  meow/"    "Dear  me!   dear  me! 
I  wonder  what  can  the  matter  be  ! " 

The  mistress  paused  on  an  upper  stair, 

For,  what  did  she  see  below  ? 
But  three  little  kittens,  with  frightened  air, 

All  standing  up  in  a  row  ! 
With  six  little  paws  on  the  step  above, 
And  no  mother  cat  to  caress  or  love ! 

Through  the  kitchen  door  came  a  cloud  of  smoke  ! 

The  mistress,  in  great  alarm, 
To  a  sense  of  danger  straightway  awoke — 

Her  babies  might  come  to  harm. 
On  the  kitchen  hearth,  to  her  great  amaze, 
Was  a  basket  of   shavings  beginning  to  blaze. 

The  three  little  kittens  were  hugged  and  kissed, 

And  promised  many  a  mouse, 
While  their  names  were  put  upon  honor's  list, 
•  For  hadn't  they  saved  the  house  ? 
And  two  little  children  were  gathered  tight 
To  their  mother's  heart  ere  she  slept  that  night. 


A  SHAKESPEAREAN  PERVERSION. 


"Romeo,  Romeo,  wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo?" 

Her  voice  reechoes  through  the  woodland  drear, 
In  cadence  rising  high,  then  falling  low, 

Yet  ever  like  a  bell,  so  sweet  and  clear. 
She  calleth  — no  response — no  one  is  nigh — 

With  anxious  fears  her  voice  doth  lightly  quiver ; 
The  deaf  ferryman  heareth  not  her  cry, 

"Row  me,  0  !  Row  me,  0  !  Row  me  o'  the  river!'' 


AND  RECITATIONS.  11 


JAPANESE  PARASOL  AND  FAN  DRILL. 


MRS.    MARY    L.    GADDESS. 


rpWELVE  girls  are  necessary  for  this  drill.  The  hair  is  worn 
-*-  high,  with  fancy  pins  and  small  fans  stuck  through  it  here 
and  there.  The  dresses  should  almost  touch  the  floor.  The  mate- 
rial is  of  the  many-colored  Madras  goods  that  will  represent  Japan- 
ese style.     A  fan  tied  with  ribbon  hangs  at  one  side. 

They  enter,  six  from  each  side,  with  open  Japanese  paper  para- 
sols of  various  colors.  Six  of  the  girls  hold  the  parasols  over  their 
left  shoulders  and  six  over  their  right  shoulders,  so  that  when  on 
the  stage  the  parasols  will  be  on  opposite  sides.  They  meet  in 
centre  and  drop  a  stiff  courtesy  to  one  another,  and  then  to  the 
audience.  All  movements  must  be  made  with  automatic  precision. 
They  then  march  to  the  front  with  a  stiff,  waddliug  walk.  Quick 
galop  time  for  the  music  is  easiest  to  manage,  and  the  selection 
may  be  from  the  "  Mikado." 

On  reaching  the  front  of  stage  and  facing  audience,  they  act 
as  if  frightened,  and  pull  parasols  suddenly  over  faces  and  scamper 
to  back  of  stage.  Then  face  audience  from  back  and  hold  parasols 
open  before  faces.  Suddenly  shut  them,  as  if  firing  off  a  gun. 
Drop  down  quickly  all  in  a  bunch  on  the  floor,  each  at  arm's 
length  from  the  other,  and  dashing  parasol  open,  whirl  it  round 
them  on  the  floor.  Quickly  throw  parasols  over  shoulders,  and, 
rising  to  feet,  put  them  over  right  shoulder  and  peep  at  audience 
out  of  left  eye  from  under  parasol. 

Two  by  two,  waddle  to  front  of  stage  and,  shutting  parasols, 
drop  down  in  a  bunch  on  floor  and  fan  rapidly  to  music  till  end  of 
measure,  when  they  again  go  to  back  of  stage  with  the  swinging 
movement,  parasols  over  shoulder  and  fanning.  The  whole  effect 
is  in  getting  the  waddling  step  right,  and  it  requires  considerable 
practice.     When  thoroughly  mastered,  it  pleases  greatly. 


12 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  TINTAMARRE. 


JULIA   M.    RYAN. 


[According  to  tradition,  Count  Thibaut,  of  Blois,  taking  pity  on  the  lot  of 
those  who  toiled  in  the  fields,  fixed  the  hour  for  beginning  and  ending  the 
day's  work.  Every  evening  when  the  bell  of  the  tower  had  rung,  one  could 
hear  the  workmen  nearest  the  tower  warning  their  fellow  toilers  either  by 
shout  or  by  the  sound  of  their  picks  and  spades,  which  they  struck  against 
one  another.  This  was  the  Tintamarre,  and  during  the  confused  hum  could 
be  heard  the  grateful  shouts:  "God  pardon  the  good  Count  of  Blois,  "- 
Monteil.] 

[The  refrain  may  be  recited  or  sung.  Give  the  prayer  with  fervor,  the 
whole  with  spirit.  For  one  not  familiar  with  the  French  accent,  it  would  be 
well  to  consult  a  living  teacher,  as  otherwise  much  of  the  effect  will  be  lost. 
The  patois  is  here  used,  as  seen  by  the  form  of  the  verb"  pardoint  "  instead 
of  "pardont."    The  words  of  the  refraiii  change  after  each  stanza.] 

U  "^TOW  Maitre,   this  is  the  Tintamarre 
-v         Of  the  village  of  Carmeray.'" 
So  spoke  a  sunburnt  campagnard 

By  the  Beauron's  winding  way. 
From  hand  to  hand,  from  voice  to  voice, 

Five  hundred  years  men  say, 
It  has  summoned  the  weary  to  rejoice 

At  the  death  of  the  worker's  day. 


[  REFRAIN".] 


I 


BE? 


m 


ir^rd: 


-?-«-— 


jt 


Ho  -  ra  -  o !     Jean  -  Jean-not !   Dieu    par-doint  au  Corote  Thi-baut ! 


:=P 


J=F 


=*t 


:*=£ 


£-* 


H-T—  J <g—  -— 


GiUe§,-Jac-quot!  Pieu  p^r-doiot        auCowte  Thi-baut! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  13 

"  Ha-ro-o  ! 

Gilles,  Jacquot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Ha-ro-o ! 

Marthe,  Margot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut!" 

Au  tout  bon  Comte  de  Blois  !  " 

At  the  first  sweet  sound  of  the  vesper  bell 

The  harvester  drops  the  hay  ; 
And  leaving  the  last  tree  where  it  fell, 

The  woodcutter  turns  away. 
Then  he  thinks  how  his  fathers'  fathers  toiled 

From  dawn  to  dusk  of  day ; 
And  he  crosses  his  tools  in  the  Tintamarre 

And  he  bares  his  brow  to  pray : 

"Ha-ro-o! 
Marc,  Michau  ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Ha-ro-o  ! 
Jean,  Jeannot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Au  tout  bon  Comte  de  Blois  ! " 

The  hurrying  ploughman  stops  half-way 

In  the  furrow  turned  for  grain  ; 
Alone  he  doubles  the  roundelay, 

And  with  whetstone  strikes  his  wain ; 
The  ditcher,  clearing  his  dusty  throat, 

Sends  on  the  same  refrain, 
Till  the  wandering  goatherd  note  for  note 

Gives  the  Haro  back  again  : 

"Ha-ro-o  ! 
Luc,  Arnaud  ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 


U  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Ha  ro-o  ! 
Jules,  Guillot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Au  tout  bon  Comte  de  Blois!" 

Still  the  miller  reckons  his  empty  sacks, 

As  he  stays  in  the  mill  alone  ; 
Still  the  miserly  farmers  bend  their  backs, 

For  the  harvest  is  all  their  own. 
And  ha !  ha  !  ha  !    "  It  would  grieve  a  Turk," 

The  wiseacres  sighing  say, 
"  That  the  precious  daylight  God  gave  for  work, 

Men  and  women  should  dance  away." 

"  Ha-ro-o  ! 
Jacques,  Renaud  ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut! 
Ha-ro-o  ! 
Jeanne,  Babeau  ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Au  tout  bon  Comte  de  Blois  !  '* 

Now  the  fiddler's  time  of  toil  begins, 

Yet  he,  too,  gives  thanks  to  heaven ; 
For,  old  and  blind,  he  hardly  wins 

The  scanty  bread  of  seven. 
And  clattering  after  his  dancing  feet 

Come  the  village  children  all, 
As  they  mimic  the  sounds  of  the  Tintamarre 

And  echo  the  elder's  call  : 

"  Ha-ro-o  ! 
Gilles,  Jacquot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut  I 
Ha-ro-o  ! 
Marthe,  Margot ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut  ! 
Au  tout  bon  Comte  do  Blois ! " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  15 

L'estyoi. 

Still  the  grandsires  say,  does  the  good  Comte's  soul 

Haunt  forest  and  champ  and  close. 
Still  he  claims  his  lordship  on  every  bole, 
And  from  every  furrow  thus  takes  his  toll : 
"Dieu  pardoint  au  bon  Comte  Thibaut ! 
Dieu  pardoint  au  Comte  de  Blois!" 


THE  VISION  OF  ST.  DOMINIC. 


~|    |~E  knelt  alone  on  the  cold  grey  stone 

J — *-    In  the  shrine  outside  the  city, 

And  he  prayed  to  the  Queen  in  heaven  above 

For  her  gracious  help  and  pity. 
Sore  he  wept  o'er  the  fold  of  Christ 

That  the  wolves  had  broken  their  fences, 
And  unchristian  strife  was  in  Christendom  rife, 

A  strife  with  the  Albigenses. 

"0  Lady,"  he  cried,  "I  have  preached  far  and  wide, 

I  have  fasted  and  watched  in  anguish  ; 
How  long,  how  long,  shall  the  Bride  of  Christ 

In  sorrow  and  weakness  languish  ? 
Shall  the  foeman's  host  be  able  to  boast 

In  pages  of  future  story, 
That  hell  prevailed  and  His  promise  failed, 

Alas!  for  Thy  Son's  dear  glory!" 

He  ceased  his  moan,  a  radiance  shone 

On  pillar  and  wall  around  him ; 
Was  it  the  moon  whose  pitying  beams 

In  his  lonely  watch  had  found  him  ? 


16  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Ah!  well  he  knows,  by  the  joy  that  glows 

In  his  heart  just  now  so  lonely, 
'Tis  a  visit  from  home — such  light  can  come 

From  the  face  of  our  Lady  only. 

She  stretched  her  arms  to  the  kneeling  saint, 

The  arms  where  his  Lord  had  nestled : 
"Oh,  all  the  while"  (she  said  with  a  smile), 

"  Have  I  prayed  for  you  as  you  wrestled. 
But,  Dominic,  know  that  the  Church  shall  owe 

Her  triumph,  when  discord  closes, 
Not  to  might  of  words,  nor  the  force  of  swords — = 

She  shall  win  by  a  crown  of  roses." 

It  faded  from  sight,  that  Presence  bright, 

Yet  still  in  the  church  he  lingers, 
And  ever  the  crown  which  his  Queen  dropped  down, 

Keeps  wandering  through  his  fingers. 
When  the  pale  dawn  broke  the  saint  awoke, 

From  his  prayer  he  passed  to  his  mission ; 
The  chaplet  of  prayer  in  his  hand  he  bare, 

In  his  heart  the  peace  of  the  vision. 


THE  CHALLENGE. 


ROGER   ATKINSOK    PRYOR. 


A  warrior  hung  his  plumed  helm 
On  the  rugged  trunk  of  an  aged  elm. 
''Where  is  the  knight  so  bold,"  he  cried, 
"That    dares  my  haughty  crest  deride?" 
The  wind  came  by  with  a  sullen  howl, 
And  dashed  the  helm  on  the  pathway  foul, 
And  shook  in  scorn  each  sturdy  limb, 
For  where  was  the  knight  could  fight  with  him? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  17 

THE  WRITING  ON  THE  IMAGE. 


WILLIAM    MOKRIS. 


TN  half-forgotten  days  of  old, 

-*-    As  by  our  fathers  we  were  told, 

Within  the  town  of  Eome  there  stood 

An  image  made  of  cornel-wood ; 

And  on  the  upraised  hand  of  it 

Men  might  behold  these  letters  writ : 

11  Percute  hie,"  which  is  to  say, 

In  that  tongue  that  we  speak  to-day, 

"  Strike  here  !"    Nor  yet  did  any  know 

The  cause  why  this  was  written  so. 

There  came  a  man  of  Sicily, 
"Who,  when  the  image  he  did  see, 
Knew  full  well  who,  in  days  of  yore, 
Had  set  it  there  ;  for  much  strange  lore, 
In  Egypt  and  in  Babylon, 
This  man  with  painful  toil  had  won. 
And  doubted  not  that  some  great  spell 
It  guarded,  but  could  nowise  tell 
What  it  might  be.     So,  day  by  day, 
Still  would  he  loiter  on  the  way. 

And  on  a  day  he  stood  and  gazed 

Upon  the  slender  finger  raised 

Against  a  doubtful  cloudy  sky, 

Nigh  noontide  ;  and  thought :  "  Certainly, 

The  master  who  made  thee  so  fair 

By  wondrous  art,  had  not  stopped  there 

But  made  thee  speak,  had  he  not  thought 

That  thereby  evil  might  be  brought 

Upon  his  spell."    But  as  he  spoke, 

From  out,  the  cloud  the  noon  sun  broke, 


18  .  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  from  that  finger,  carved  to  tell 
Those  words,  a  short  black  shadow  fell 
Upon  a  certain  spot  of  ground. 
And  thereon,  looking  all  around, 
Swift  with  his  knife  about  the  place 
A  little  circle  did  he  trace. 

So  when  at  midnight  he  did  wake, 

Pick-axe  and  shovel  did  he  take, 

And,  going  to  that  now  silent  square, 

He  found  the  mark  his  knife  made  there. 

And  so,  the  stones  being  set  apart, 

He  ?gan  to  dig  with  beating  heart, 

And  from  the  hole  in  haste  he  cast 

The  marl  and  gravel  ;  till  at  last, 

Full  shoulder  high,  his  arms  were  jarred  ; 

For  suddenly  his  spade  struck  hard 

With  clang  against  some  metal   thing. 

And  soon  he  found  a  brazen  ring, 

All  green  with  rust,  twisted,  and  great 

As  a  man's  wrist,  set  in  a  plate 

Of  copper,  wrought  all  curiously 

With  words  unknown,  though  plain  to  see. 

But  small  time  had  he  then  to  stand 

And  think,  so  straight  he  set  his  hand 

Unto  the  ring,  lo  !  easily 

It  came  away,  and  let  him  see 

A  winding  staircase  wrought  of  stone, 

Where  through  the  new-come  wind  did  moan. 

Then  thought  he :  "  If  I  come  alive 

From  out  this  place,  well  shall  I  thrive, 

And  meet  my  fate  whatever  it  be." 

Now,  on  his  back  a  bag  had  he, 

To  bear  what  treasure  he  might  win, 

And  therewith  now  did  he  begin 

To  go  adown  the  winding  stair; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  19 

And  found  the  walls  all  painted  fair 
With  images  of  many  a  thing, 
"Warrior  and  priest,   and  queen  and  king, 
For  lamps  were  hung  up  here  and  there 
Of  strange  device,  but  wrought  right  fair, 
And  pleasant  savor  came  from  them. 

At  last  a  curtain,   on  whose  hem 

Unknown  words  in  red -gold  were  writ, 

He  reached,  and,  softly  raising  it, 

Stepped   back,  for  now  did  he  behold 

A  goodly  hall  hung  round  with  gold; 

And  at  the  upper  end  could  see, 

Sitting,   a  glorious  company. 

A  sudden  blast  of  outer  air 

Blew  out  the  lamps  upon  the  stair, 

And  all  was  dark  behind  him.     Then 

Did  he  fear  less  to  face  those  men 

Than,  turning  round,  to  leave  them  there 

"While  he  went  groping  up  the  stair. 

He  raised  the  cloth  and  entered  in, 

In  hope  that  happy  life  to  win; 

And  drawing  nigher,  did  behold 

That  these  were  bodies,  dead  and  cold, 

Attired  in  full  royal  guise, 

And  wrought  by  art  in  such  a  wise 

That  living  they  all  seemed  to  be 

Whose  very  eyes  he  well  could  see. 

And  midmost  of  that  company 
An  ancient  king  that  man  could  see ; 
And  next  beside  him  sat  his  queen, 
Who  in  a  flowery  gown  of  green 
And  golden  mantle  well  was  clad, 
And  on  her  neck  a  collar  had. 
On  either  side  of  these,  a  lord 


20  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Stood  heedfully  before  the  board, 

And  in  their  hands  held  bread  and  wine 

For  service ;  behind  these  did  shine 

The  armor  of  the  guards,  and  then 

The  well-attired  serving-men, 

And  minstrels  clad  in  raiment  meet. 

And  over  against  the  royal  seat 

Was  hung  a  lamp,  although  no  flame 

Was  burning  there,  but  there  was  set 

Within  its  open  golden  fret 

A  huge  carbuncle,  red  and  bright, 

Wherefrom  there  shone  forth  such  a  light 

That  the  great  hall  was  as  clear  by  it 

As  though  by  wax  it  had  been  lit. 

Six  paces  from  the  dai's  stood 

An  image  made  of  brass  and  wood, 

In  'likeness  of  a  full-armed  knight, 

Who  pointed  'gainst  the  ruddy  light 

A  huge  shaft  ready  in  a  bow. 

Pondering  how  he  could  come  to  know 

What  all  these  marvelous  matters  meant, 

About  the  hall  the  Scholar  went ; 

And  still  for  fear,  he  doubted  much 

One  jewel  of  their  robes  to  touch. 

But  as  about  the  hall  he  passed, 

He  grew  more  used  to  them  at  last, 

And  thought :  "  Swiftly  the  time  goes  by 

And  now  no  doubt  the  day  draws  nigh ; 

Folks  will  be  stirring."    Then  he  drew 

Unto  those  royal  corpses  two, 

That  on  dead  brows  still  wore  the  crown, 

And  'midst  the  golden  cups  set  down 

The  rugged  wallet  from  his  back, 

Patched  of  strong  leather,  brown  and  black. 

Then  opening  wide  its  mouth,  took  up 

From  off  the  board  a  golden  cup. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  21 

From  the  slim  queen  he  thence  undid 

The  jeweled  collar,  that  straight  slid 

Down  from  her  smooth  throat  to  the  board. 

And  when  these  matters  he  had  stored 

Safe  in  his  sack,  with  both  their  crowns, 

The  jeweled  parts  of  their  rich  gowns, 

Their  shoes  and  belts,  brooches  and  rings, 

And  cleared  the  board  of  all  rich  things, 

He  staggered  with  them  down  the  hall. 

But  as  he  went  his  eyes  did  fall 

Upon  a  wonderful  green  stone, 

Upon  the  hall  floor  laid  alone. 

He  said  :  "  Though  thou  art  not  so  great 

To  add  by  much  unto  the  weight 

Of  this  my  sack,  indeed,  yet  thou, 

Certes,  would  make  me  rick  enow, 

That  verily  with  thee  I  might 

Wage  one-half  of  the  world  to  fight 
The  other  half  of  it,  and  I 
'The  lord  of  all  the  world  might  die ; 
I  will  not  leave  thee."     Therewithal, 
He  knelt  down  midmost  of  the  hall, 
Thinking  it  would  come  easily 
Into  his  hand  ;  but  when  that  he 
Gat  hold  of  it,  full  fast  it  stack, 
So,  fuming,  down  he  laid  his  sack, 
And  with  both  hands  pulled  lustily. 
But  as  he  strained  he  cast  his  eye 
Unto  the  dai's,  and  saw  there 
The  image  who  the  great  bow  bare, 
Moving  the  bowstring  to  his  ear. 
So,  shrieking  out  aloud  for  fear, 
Of  that  rich  stone  he  loosed  his  hold 
And,  catching  up  his  bag  of  gold, 
Gat  to  his  feet.     But  ere  he  stood, 
The  evil  thing  of  brass  and  wood 


22  .  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Up  to  his  ear  the  notches  drew, 
And,  clanging,  forth  the  arrow  flew, 
And  midmost  of  the  carbuncle 
Clanging  again,  the  forked  barbs  fell, 
And  all  was  dark  as  pitch  straightway. 

But  in  a  while  his  hope  returned  ; 

And  then,  though  nothing  he  discerned, 

He  gat  him  up  upon  his  feet, 

And  all  about  the  wall  he  beat 

To  find  some  token  of  the  door, 

But  never  could  he  find  it  more. 

For,  by  some  dreadful  sorcery, 

All  was  sealed  close  as  it  might  be ; 

And  'midst  the  marvels  of  that  hall 

This  Scholar  found  the  end  of  all. 

But  in  the  town  on  that  same  night, 
An  hour  before  the  dawn  of  light, 
Such  storm  upon  the  place  there  fell, 
That  not  the  oldest  man  could  tell 
Of  such  another  ;  and  thereby 
The  image  was  burnt  utterly. 


ENCORE. 


The  traveler  o'er  the  desert  wild 

Need  not  let  want  confound  him, 
For  he  at  any  time  may  eat 

The  sand-which-is  around  him. 
You  may,  perhaps,  think  it  quite  strange 

That  he  should  find  such  pleasant  fare  ; 
But  you  forget  the  sons  of  Ham 

Were  bred  and  mustered  there. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  23 

A  TREE-TISE   ON   NATURE, 


LOUIS    H.    LEVIN. 


/~\LD  Nature  teems  with  many  things 
^-^     Designed  for  the  good  of  man, 
And  all  her  wond'rous  works  confess 
The  wisdom  of  th'  Almighty's  plan. 

One  of  her  mysteries  I've  ex]3lored, 

And  though  nought's  new  beneath  tbe  sun, 

I  may  surprise  you  when  I  say 
She  has  a  tree  for  everyone. 

The  girl  who  thinks  of  sealskin  wraps 
And  nothing  else — well,  what  of  her  ? 

It  stands  to  reason  that  her  tree 
Can  be  no  other  than  the  fir. 

There  are  some  vain  of  pretty  hands, 

The  slightest  blemish  breaks  their  calm ; 

I  pondered  long  to  find  their  tree, 
I  doubt  not  now  it  is  the  palm. 

For  those  of  us  who  lack  in  grace, 
And  miss  the  gift  of  beauty,  too, 

(I  know  this  is  unwelcome  news) 
The  wal(J)-nut  tree  will  have  to  do. 

Some  are  who  trust  whate'er  they  hear. 

And  think  folks  say  just  what  they  mean; 

I  think  it  very  clear  to  us 

For  them  was  made  the  evergreen. 


24  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Of  teachers  who,  with  winning  ways, 

Make  dark  schoolrooms  as  bright  as  day,  J 

With  one  accord  we  shout  aloud  : 

"  0  they,  you  know,  are  all  oak  h." 

And  those  who  dress  exact  and  prim, 

Affecting  neatness,  full  of  airs, 
What  is  it  that  will  suit  them  quite  ? 

Ah,  now  I  know, — the  spruce  is  theirs. 

The  English  girls  in  boarding-schools, 

Who  to  the  Cockney  accent  cling, 
No  doubt  repeat  with  mournful  voice, 

That,  "  'ash,  you  know,  is  just  the  thing. w 

To  those  who  love  to  tell  stale  jokes, 

From  whom  in  fear  all  mortals  flee, 
With  pleasure  we  shall  freely  grant 

That  everlasting  chestnut  tree. 

Now  give  me  leaf  to  make  my  bough, 
Though  many  trees  I've  yet  to  name ; 

This  subject  I  cannot  exhaust, 
Too  many  branches  does  it  claim. 

'Tis  marvelous  that  there's  a  tree 

Appropriate  for  each  bent  of  mind ! 
The  reason  is  in  mystery  hid, 

The  root  of  it  I  cannot  find. 

No  longer  will  I  mar  this  (s)'appy  day, 
With  verse  uncouth,  unpolished,  rude  and  lame, 

Lest  you,  impatient,  eager  for  revenge, 

With  cries  of  tree-son  blast  my  muse's  fame  I 


AND  RECITATIONS.  25 

SANTA     CLAUS. 


TTEE  other  day  I  was  at  Tom  McGrinnis'  house,  and  he  had  some 
fr  company.  He  was  a  big  boy  and  something  like  a  cousin  of 
Tom's.  Would  you  believe  it,  that  fellow  said  there  wasn't  any 
Santa  Claus  !  The  more  I  thought  about  it  the  more  I  got  wor- 
ied.  If  there  is  a  Santa  Claus — and  of  course  there  is— how  could 
le  get  up  on  the  top  of  the  house  so  he  could  come  down  the  chim- 
ley,  unless  he  carried  a  big  ladder  with  him  ?  And  if  he  did  this, 
low  could  he  carry  presents  enough  to  fill  mor'n  a  hundred  stock- 
ngs  ?  And  then,  how  could  he  help  getting  the  things  all  over 
loot  from  the  chimney,  and  how  does  he  manage  when  the  chini- 
ley  is  all  full  of  smoke  and  fire,  as  it  always  is  at  Christmas  ? 

The  story  Tom  McGrinnis'  cousin  told  kept  on  worrying  me, 
md  finally  I  began  to  think  how  perfectly  awful  it  would  be  if 
here  was  any  truth  in  it.  How  the  children  would  feel  ! 
There's  going  to  be  no  end  of  children  at  our  house  this  Christ- 
nas,  and  Aunt  Eliza  and  her  two  small  boys  are  here  already.  I 
leard  mother  and  Aunt  Eliza  talking  about  Christmas  the  other 
lay,  and  they  agreed  that  all  the  children  should  sleep  on  cot  bed- 
iteads  in  the  back  parlor,  so  that  they  could  open  their  stockings 
iogether,  and  mother  said  :  "  You  know,  Eliza,  there's  a  big  fire- 
)lace  in  that  room,  and  the  children  can  hang  their  stockings 
iround  the  chimney." 

Now  I  know  I  did  wrong,  but  it  was  only  because  I  did  not 
vant  the  children  to  be  disappointed.  Neither  do  I  blame  mother, 
.hough  if  she  hadn't  spoken  about  the  fireplace  in  the  way  she  did, 
t  would  never  have  happened. 

It  all  occurred  yesterday.  Tom  McGinnis  had  come  to  see  me, 
md  all  the  folks  had  gone  out  to  ride,  except  Aunt  Eliza's  little 
)oy,  Harry.  We  were  talking  about  Christmas,  and  I  was  telling 
Tom  how  all  the  children  were  to  sleep  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
row  there  w&s  a  chimney  there  that  was  just  the  thing  for  Sant'i 
laus.  We  went  and  looked  at  the  chimney,  and  then  I  said  to 
Tom  what  fun  it  would  be  to  dress  up  and  come  down  the  chimney 


2G  WERNER'S  READINGS 

and  pretend  to  be  Santa  Claus,  and  how  it  would  amuse  the  chil- 
dren, and  how  pleased  the  grown-up  folks  would  be. 

Tom  agreed  with  me  that  it  would  be  splendid  fun,  and  said  we 
ought  to  practice  coming  down  the  chimney,  so  that  we  could  do 
it  easily  on  Christmas  eve.  He  said  he  thought  I  ought  to  do  it, 
because  it  was  in  our  house  ;  but  I  said  no,  he  was  visitor,  and  it 
would  be  mean  and  selfish  in  me  to  deprive  him  of  any  pleasure. 
But  Tom  wouldn't  do  it.  He  said  that  he  wasn't  feeling  very  well, 
and  that  he  didn't  like  to  take  liberties  with  our  chimney,  and,  be- 
sides, he  was  afraid  that  he  was  so  big  that  he  wouldn't  fit  the 
chimney.  Then  we  thought  of  Harry,  and  agreed  that  he  was  just 
the  right  size.  Of  course,  Harry  said  he'd  do  it,  for  he  isn't  afraid 
of  anything,  and  is  so  proud  to  be  allowed  to  play  with  Tom  and 
me  that  he  would  do  anything  we  asked  him  to  do. 

Well,  Harry  took  off  his  coat  and  shoes,  and  we  all  went  up  to' 
the  roof,  and  Tom  and  I  boosted  Harry  till  he  got  on  the  top  of  the; 
chimney  and  put  his  legs  in  it  and  slid  down.  He  went  down  like 
a  flash,  for  he  didn't  know  enough  to  brace  himself  the  way  the 
chimney-sweeps  do.  Tom  and  I  hurried  down  to  the  back  parlor 
to  meet  him  ;  but  he  had  not  arrived  yet,  though  the  fireplace  was 
full  of  ashes  and  soot.  We  supposed  he  had  stopped  on  the  way  to 
rest ;  but  after  awhile  we  thought  we  heard  a  noise,  like  somebody 
calling,  that  was  a  great  way  off.  We  went  up  on  the  roof  think- 
ing Harry  might  have  climbed  back  up  the  chimney,  but  he  wasn't 
there.  When  we  got  on  the  top  of  the  chimney,  we  could  hear  him 
plain  enough.  Pie  was  crying  and  yelling  for  help,  for  he  was 
stuck  about  half-way  down  the  chimney,  and  couldn't  get  either  up 
or  down. 

We  talked  it  over  for  some  time,  and  decided  that  the  best 
thing  to  do  was  to  get  a  rope  and  let  it  down  to  him,  and  pull  him 
out.  So  I  got  the  clothes-line  and  let  it  down;  but  Harry's  arms 
were  jammed  close  to  his  sides,  so  he  couldn't  get  hold  of  it.  Tom 
said  we  ought  to  make  a  slip-noose  and  catch  it  over  Harry's 
head,  and  pull  him  out  that  way ;  but  I  knew  that  Harry  wasn't 
very  strong,  and  I  was  afraid  if  we  did  that  he  might  come  apart. 
Then  I  proposed  that  we  should  get  a  long  pole  and  push  Harry! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  27 

down  the  rest  of  the  chimney  ;  but  after  hunting  all  over  the  yard 
we  couldn't  fii.d  a  pole  that  was  long  enough,  so  we  had  to  give 
that  plan  up.  Ali  this  time  Harry  was  crying  in  the  most  discon- 
tented way,  although  we  were  doing  all  we  could  for  him.  That's 
the  way  with  little  boys.  They  never  have  any  gratitude,  and  are 
always  discontented. 

As  we  couldn't  poke  Harry  down,  Tom  said  let's  try  to  poke  him 
up.  So  we  told  Harry  to  be  patient  and  considerate,  and  we  went 
down  stairs  again,  and  took  the  longest  pole  we  could  find,  find 
pushed  it  up  the  chimney.  Bushels  of  soot  came  down,  and  flew 
over  everything,  but  we  couldn't  reach  Harry  with  the  pole.  By 
bhis  time  we  began  to  feel  discouraged.  We  were  awfully  sorry  for 
Harry,  because  if  we  couldn't  get  him  out  before  the  folks  came 
home,  Tom  and  I  would  be  in  a  dreadful  scrape. 

Then  I  thought  that  if  we  were  to  build  a  little  fire  the  draught 
night  draw  Harry  out.  Tom  thought  it  was  an  excellent  plan. 
So  I  started  a  fire ;  but  it  didn't  loosen  Harry  a  bit,  and  when  we 
vent  on  the  roof  to  meet  him  we  heard  him  crying  louder  than 
sver,  and  saying  that  something  was  on  fire  in  the  chimney  and 
vas  choking  him.  I  knew  what  to  do,  though  Tom  didn't,  and,  to 
ell  the  truth,  he  was  terribly  frightened. 

We  ran  down  and  got  two  pails  of  water,  and  poured  them 
lown  the  chimney.  That  put  the  fire  out,  but  you  would  hardly 
>elieve  that  Harry  was  more  unreasonable  than  ever,  and  said  we 
rere  trying  to  drown  him.  There  is  no  comfort  in  wearing  your- 
elf  out  trying  to  please  little  boys.  You  can't  satisfy  them,  no 
aatter  how  much  trouble  you  take. 

We  had  tried  every  plan  we  could  think  of  to  get  Harry  out  of 
he  chimney,  but  none  of  them  succeeded.      Tom  said  if  we  were 

pour  a  whole  lot  of  oil  down  the  chimney  it  would  make  it  so 
lippery  that  Harry  would  slide  right  down  into  the  back  parlor, 
it  I  wouldn't  do  it,  because  I  knew  the  oil  would  spoil  Harry's 
lothes,  and  that  would  make  Aunt  Eliza  angry. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  carriage  stop  at  our  gate,  and  there 
ere  the  grown  folks,  who  had  come  home  earlier  than  I  supposed 
hey  would.      Tom  said  he  thought  he  would  go  home  before  his 


28  WERNER S  K  EA  DINGS 

own  folks  began  to  get  uneasy  about  him,  so  he  went  out  of  the 
back  gate,  and  left  me  to  explain  things.  They  had  to  send  for 
some  men  to  come  and  cut  a  hole  through  the  wall.  Bnt  they  got 
Harry  out  all  safe;  and  after  they  found  that  he  wasn't  a  bit  hurt, 
instead  of  thanking  me  for  all  Tom  and  I  had  done  for  him,  they 
seemed  to  think  that  I  deserved  the  worst  punishment  I  ever  had, 
and  I  got  it.  I  shall  never  make  another  attempt  to  amuse  children 
on  Christmas  eve. 


MOTHER'S  HYMNS. 


EMILY  G.   WEATHERBEE. 


HUSHED  are  those  lips,  their  earthly  song  is  ended; 
The  singer  sleeps  at  last; 
While  I  sit  gazing  at  her  armchair  vacant, 

And  think  of  days  long  passed. 
The  room  still  echoes  with  the  old-time  music, 

As,  singing  soft  and  low 
Those  grand,  sweet  hymns,  the  Christian's  consolation, 

She  rocks  her  to  and  fro. 
Some  that  can  stir  the  heart  like  shouts  of  triumph 

Or  loud-toned  trumpet's  call, 
Bidding  the  people  prostrate  fall  before  Him, 

"And  crown  Him — Lord  of  all." 
And  tender  notes  filled  with  melodious  rapture, 

That  leaned  upon  His  word, 
Kose  in  those  strains  of  solemn,  deep  affection, 

"  I  love  thy  kingdom,  Lord." 
Safe  hidden  in  the  wondrous  "  Rock  of  Ages," 

She  bade  farewell  to  fear; 
Sure  thntl.cr  Lord  would  always  gently  lead  her, 
She  read  her  title  clear. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  29 

Joyful  she  saw  '■'■from  Greenland' s  icy  mountains" 

The  Gospel  flag;  unfurled  ; 
And  knew  by  faith  ' '  the  morning  light  teas  breaking  " 

Over  a  sinful  world. 

"  TJiere  is  a  fountain ,"  how  the  tones  triumphant 

Eose  in  victorious  strains, 
"Filled  with  that  precious  blood,  for  all  the  ransomed, 

Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins." 

Dear  saint,  in  heavenly  mansions  long  since  folded, 

Safe  in  God's  fostering  love 
She  joins  with  rapture  in  the  blissful  chorus 

Of  those  bright  choirs  above. 

There,  where  no  tears  are  known ,  no  pain  nor  sorrow, 

Safe  beyond  Jordan's  roll 
She  lives  forever  with  her  blessed  Jesus, 

The  lover  of  her  soul. 


WHEN  WASHINGTON  WAS  PRESIDENT. 


ROBERT    J.  BURDETTE. 

WHEN  Washington  was  president,  as  cold  as  any  icicle, 
He  never  on  a  railroad  went,  and  never  rode  a  bicycle. 
le  read  by  no  electric  lamp,  nor  heard  about  the  Yellowstone, 
le  never  licked  a  postage-stamp,  and  never  saw  a  telephone. 

lis  trousers  ended  at  the  knees,  by  wire  he  could  not  send  dispatch ; 
le  filled  his  lamp  with  whale-oil  grease,  and  never  had  a  match  to 

scratch. 
5ut  in  these  days  it's  come  to  pass,  all  work  is  with  such  dashing 

done — 
Ve've   all   those   things;    but   then,    alas! — we   seem  to  have   no 

Washington. 


30  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  RABBI  AND  THE  PRINCE. 


JAMES    CLARENCE    HARVEY. 


A     MONARCH  sat,  in  serious  thought,  alone, 
-*--*-    But  little  recked  he  of  his  robe  and  throne, 
Naught  valuing  the  glory  of  control, 
He  sought  to  solve  the  future  of  his  soul. 

"  Why  should  I  bow  the  proud,  imperious  knee, 
To  mighty  powers  no  mortal  eye  can  see  ?" 
So  mused  he  long,  and  turned  this  question  o'er ; 
Then,  with  impatient  tread,  he  paced  the  floor, 
'Till  maddened  by  conflicting  trains  of  thought, 
And  speculations  vague  which  came  to  naught, 
With  feverish  haste  he  clutched  a  tasseled  cord, 
As  desperate  hands  in  battle  clutch  a  sword. 

"  Summon  Jehoshua/' the  monarch  cried  ; 
The  white-haired  Rabbi  soon  was  at  his  side. 

"  I  bow  no  more  to  powers  I  cannot  see. 

Thy  faith  and  learning  shall  be  naught  to  me, 
Unless,  before  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
Mine  eyes  behold  the  Uncreated  One." 

The  Rabbi  led  him  to  the  open  air. 
The  oriental  sun,  with  furious  glare, 
Sent  down  its  rays,  like  beams  of  molten  gold. 
The  aged  teacher,  pointing,  said,  "Behold." 
"I  cannot,"  said  the  prince.     "My  dazzled  eyes 
Refuse  their  service,  turned  upon  the  skies." 

"  Son  of  the  dust,"  the  Rabbi  gently  said, 
And  bowed  with  reverence  his  hoary  head, 

"  This  one  creation  thine  eyes  cannot  behold, 
Though  by  thy  lofty  state  and  pride  made  boli, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  31 

How  canst  thou,  then,  behold  the  God  of  Light, 
Before  whose  face  these  sunbeams  are  as  night  ? 
Thine  eyes,  before  this  trifling  labor  fall, 
Canst  gaze  on  Him,  who  hath  created  all  ? 
Son  of  the  dust,  repentance  can  atone ; 
Return  and  worship  God,  who  rules  alone." 


LIFE'S     DAY. 


TABLEAU    RECITATION. 


MRS.  MARY   L.   GADDESS. 


Twelve  maidens  are  required  to  represent  the  twelve  months  of  the  year,  or 
childhood,  girlhood,  maidenhood,  womanhood,  decline  and  old  age.  The 
girls  are  dressed  appropriately  for  the  months  they  represent.  The  first  maid 
comes  out  and  says  : 

1st  Maid  :     I  love  the  breath  of  fresh  damp  earth 

When  early  flowers  of  spring  have  birth  ; 

The  crocus  and  the  datfodil, 

Lift  up  their  tender  heads  so  still 

And  quietly,  that  spring  is  here 

Almost  before  we  think  it  near. 

[Stands  aside  for  2d  Maid,  who,  advancing,  says:] 

2d  Maid  :     And  then  the  sun  with  warm  caress 

Begins  to  smile,  and  kiss,  and  bless  ; 

And  one  by  one  the  little  streams 

Break  into  music,  and  the  gleams 

Of  sunlight  through  the  tree-tops  fall, 

And  shed  a  golden  light  o'er  all. 

[She  steps  hack  beside  1st  Maid.] 


32  WERNER'S  READINGS 

3d   Maid  :     The  birds  take  up  the  glad  refrain, 

And  summer  time  has  come  again. 

Across  the  meadow  as  he  goes. 

The  busy  farmer  plows  and  sows  [imitate  sowing  seed] 

With  cheerful  heart,  believing  soon 

The  harvest  time  Avill  bud  and  bloom. 

[She  retires  beside  others.] 

4th  Maid  :     All  through  the  days  so  bright  and  long, 

The  hum  of  bees  and  birds'  sweet  song, 

The  rippling  brook  by  mossy  glade, 

Each  sylvan  nook  and  pleasant  shade, 

Are  full  of  peace  and  joy  supreme, 

And  life  seems  but  a  happy  dream. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 

oth  Maid  :     The  red  ripe  fruit  in  orchards  fair 
Fill  with  perfume  the  summer  air  ; 
The  new-mown  hay  and  clover  yield 
Their  wealth  of   incense  o'er  the  field  ; 
While  hardy  men  with  sickles  keen 
Add  a  new  beauty  to  the  scene. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 

6th   Maid  :     The  grain  is  scattered  on  the  ground, 

Then  into  sheaves  is  quickly  bound  ; 

Homeward  at  last  they  wend  their  way 

At  close  of  the  bright  harvest-day. 

The  moon  arises  calm,  serene, 

To  tint  with  beauty  all  the  scene. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 

7th  Maid  :     The  summer  wanes ;    September  sun 

Eipens  the  corn.     Autumn  has  come, 

And  crimson,  purple,  gold  and  brown 

Become  October's  lovely  crown. 

The  dead  leaves  rustle  'neath  our   tread, 

The  lovely  summer  now  is  fled. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 


AND   RECITATIONS.  33 

8th  Maid  :     But  Nature  teaches  lessons  still, 

Though  silent  be  each  tiny  rill. 

Squirrel  and  rabbit,   hidden,   play 

Among  their  stores  for  winter  day. 

Men  gather  by  an  ample  board, 

With  grateful  thanks  unto  the  Lord. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 

9th  Maid  :     The  golden  pumpkin  stands  supreme 

Before  them  all,  November's  queen ; 

While  goodly  fruits  and  pleasant  cheer, 

Make  glad  the  fall  time  of  the  year  ; 

And  though  the  summer  days  are  gone, 

The    year  is  not  of  gladness  shorn. 

[Retires  beside  others.] 

10th  Maid  :     Across  the  hills,  one  winter  day, 

The  snow-clouds  chased  the  sun  away ; 

And  ere  the  twilight,  thick  and  fast 

The  white  flakes  fell  at  every  blast, 

Till  field  and  meadow,  moor  and  hill, 

Were  covered,  and  'twas  snowing  still. 

11th  Maid  :     The  flakes  so  lightly  fall  around, 
You  scarce  can  see  them.     Not  a  sound 
Breaks  the  deep  silence  ;   thus  the  snow 
Will  softly  come  and  softly  go, 
Throwing  a  mantle  pure  and  white, 
Over  the  silent  winter's  night. 

12th  Maid  :     But  soon  across  the  snow  will  steal 
The  Christmas  chimes.     Oh,  hear  them  peal ! 
"Glad  tidings,  peace  on  earth,  good-will!" 
Bing  out,   glad   bells  !    We  would  not  still 
Your  notes  of  joy,   but  join  the  song, 
The  loud  hosannas  to  prolong. 

[AH  join  in  chorus,  advancing  from  back  of  stage ;   sing  to 
music] 


34 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


3=« 


— *— F — i — a)— F Ff 


I    hear    the  hap  -  py  Christ  -  mas  bells,   Hark,  how  their  mer-ry 
All  earth     re-joice!  Break  out        in   song,      The  hap-  py    tid-ings 


rear  their  state  -  ly   heads,  And 


u 


mu  -  sic  swells! 

to     pro  -  long;  While     li 


lies 


* 


-•— 


-t- 


VI 


o  -  lets  sweet  per -fume  shed      A- round   the 

-r- 4- 


al    - 


1=:=|: 


2t 


3£*=i 


-\=-- 


-jL 


:t: 


where    we     raise     To    Bethlehem's  babe      a      song      of    praise 
Chorus. 

-fr -- : : r— * rV N !V 1— fc- 


=Jfc 


=S 


rh±3t 


Peace    on  earth,  to    men  good  will,       Al  -  le  -   al  -  le   -  lu    -    ial 


3E 


•— - 


H 


Hark!  the    an -gels  sing     it    still,     Al  -  le  -  al  -  le  -  lu  -    ia! 

[All  stand  now  hand  in  hand,  while  some  one  advances  from 
back  of  stage  and  7'ecites  ;] 

Reciter  :  The  New  Year  comes,  and  in  her  train 

Is  joy  and  sorrow,  grief  and  pain  ; 

Yet  we  can  wait,  and,  trusting,  go 

Over  the  path  we  do  not  know, 

Led  by  the  Eye  that  sees  the  way, 

And  guides  us  through  life's  busy  day. 

For  this  is  life.     My  little  song 

Has  only  been  to  lead  along 

"With  the  year's  changes,  day  by  day, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  35 

And  see  if  we  may  find  the  way 

From  early  youth  to  eventide, 

To  walk  with  Nature,  side  by  side. 

And  quickly,  then,  we  all  shall  find 
That  Nature's  God  is  very  kind ; 
And  if  He  can  so  clothe  the  field, 
And  bless  with  an  abundant  yield, 
Surely  He  will  no  less  supply 
His  children's  wants,  and  hear  their  cry. 

[Curtain  falls  as  all  stand  hand  in  hand  singing  the  chorus 
above  ;    "  Peace  on  earth,"  etc.] 


UNSEEN  YET  SEEN. 


T  HAVE  somewhere  read  in  a  thoughtful  book, 
-*■-     Of  an  old  cathedral  over  the  sea 
(A  wonder  of  art,  whose  every  nook 

Is  full  of  a  charming  mystery), 
That  up,  high  up,  on  the  topmost  point 

Of  roof  and  tower  and  belfry  gray, 
"Which  the  gracious  summer  dews  anoint 

And  the  birds  frequent  in  their  airy  way, 
There  are  marvels  of  sculpture,  rare  and  fine, 
Flower   and   fruit  and  trailing  vine  ; 
And  lovely  angels  with  folded  wings, 
Cut  from  the  stone  like  livirig  things  ; 
And  pure  Madonnas,  and  saints  at  prayer, 
With  reverent  head  and  flowing  hair  ; 
Colossal  figures  by  height  diminished, 
"With  every  lineament  finely  finished. 
Yet  all  this  delicate  tracery 
Was  not  made  for  mortal  eyes  to  see. 

Who  was  the  artist  whose  chisel  wrought 
Into  exquisite  work  such  exquisite  thought? 
Why  did  he  labor  for  years  and  years, 


36  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Through  days  of  travailing,  nights  of  tears, 
Under  the  stars  and  under  the  moon, 
Dreaming,  designing,  at  morn  and  noon, 
To  work  those  wonders  in  wood  and  stone, 
Which  God  and  His  angels  see  alone  ? 
God  and  His  angels  !  Behold  the  ke)T 
To  this  strange,  unworldly  mystery  ! 

That  grand  old  artist  mounted  on  high, 

Like  an  eagle  perched  in  his  eyrie  lonely, 
Working  with  hand  and  heart  and  eye, 

Was  working  for  God  and  His  angels  only. 
No  mean,  self-conscious  motive  stirred 

The  tranquil  depths  of  his  patient  heart 
But  praise  or  censure,  alike  unheard, 

In  his  chaste  communings  had  no  part. 
Far,  far  below  him  the  world  was  spread, 

Like  a  painted  picture,  small  and  dim  ; 
And  the  voice  of  creatures,  the  rush  and  tread 

Of  the  mighty  millions,  were  lost  on  him, 
While  the  skies  bent  over  him,  blue  and  broad, 
So  full  of  the  awful,  unseen  God. 
Heaven  seemed  so  near,  and  earth  so  far, 
No  selfish  thoughts  could  his  labor  mar 

Ah !  what  a  lovely  moral  lies 
Hid  (like  the  delicate  tracery 
On  roof  and  tower  and  gray  belfry 
Of  the  old  cathedral  over  the  sea), 

In  its  storied  legend's  dim  disguise. 
'Tis  worth  infinite  treasure  to  know 

(Whatever  beside  should  be  unknown), 
How  utterly  false  and  mean  we  grow 

When  we  work  for  the  eyes  of  men  alone. 
How  blind  and  aching  our  sight  becomes, 

With  the  glare  of  glory  such  works  may  win  us, 
While  a  selfish  purpose  narrows  and  numbs 


AND  RECITATIONS.  37 

All  that  is  noble  and  fresh  within  us. 
'Tis  only  when  self  is  dead  and  gone, 

And  our  souls  from  the  mists  of  passion  free 
That  the  angels  of  God  come  in  and  crown 

Our  labors  with  immortality. 

0  artists  who  work  with  pencil  or  pen, 

With  chisel  or  brush,  for  the  praise  of  men, 

When  you  fold  your  hands  at  the  twilight's  close, 

And  muse  in  your  darkened  studios, 

Do  you  never  consider,  once  for  all, 

How  that  other  and  deeper  night  must  fall, 

When  earth  and  the  things  thereof  shall  be 

Lost,  like  a  dream  in  eternity  ? 

When,  shrinking  and  startled,  with  soul  laid  bare, 

The  creature  shall  meet  the  Creator  there, 

And  learn  at  the  foot  of  the  Great  White  Throne, 

A  truth  which  should  have  never  been  unknown : 

That  nothing  avails  us  under  the  sun, 

In  word,  or  in  work,  save  that  which  is  done 

For  the  honor  and  glory  of  God  alone  ? 

Oh,  blessed  indeed  are  the  pure  of  heart ! 
For  they  shall  see  God  in  their  glorious  art ; 
And  joyous  shall  be  (though  the  world  wax  dim), 
If  none  shall  behold  them  save  Him,  save  Him  ; 
And  they  are  the  sculptors  whose  work  shall  last, 

Whose  names  shall  shine  as  the  stars  on  high, 
When  deep  in  the  dust  of  a  ruined  past 

The  labors  of  selfish  souls  shall  lie. 
Brothers  who  work  with  pencil  or  pen. 
With  chisel  or  brush,  for  the  praise  of  men, 
Whate'er  ye  design,  whatever  ye  do, 
Seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  then 
All  else  shall  be  graciously  added  to  you ; 
And  the  moral  is  yours  which  was  sent  to  me 
From  the  old  cathedral  over  the  sea. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE   ORPHAN'S   DREAM   OF   CHRISTMAS. 


TT  was  Christmas  eve,  and  lonely. 

■      By  a  garret  window  high, 
Where  the  city  chimneys  barely 

Spared  a  hand's  breadth  of  the  sky 
Sat  a  child  in  age,  but  weeping, 

With  a  face  so  small  and  thin, 
That  it  seemed  too  scant  a  record 

To  have  eight  years  traced  therein 

But  the  Christmas  time  returning, 

As  an  old  friend,  for  whose  eye 
She  would  take  down  all  the  pictures 

Sketched  by  faithful  memory. 
Of  those  brilliant  Christmas  seasons, 

When  the  joyous  laugh  went  round ; 
When  sweet  words  of  love  and  kindness 

Were  no  unfamiliar  sound. 

When,  lit  by  the  log's  red  lustre, 

She  her  mother's  face  could  see, 
And  she  rocked  the  cradle,  sitting 

On  her  own  twin  brother's  knee. 
Of  her  father's  pleasant  stories, 

Of  the  riddles  and  the  rhymes, 
All  the  kisses  and  the  presents 

That  had  marked  those  Christmas  times 

How  there  came  a  time  of  struggling 
When,  in  spite  of  love  and  faith, 

Grinding  poverty  would  only 
In  the  end  give  place  to  death. 

How  her  mother  grew  heart-broken 
When  her  toil-worn  father  died, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  39 

Took  her  baby  in  lier  bosom, 
And  was  buried  by  his  side. 

How  she  clung  unto  her  brother 

As  the  last  spar  from  the  wreck ; 
But  stern  death  had  come  between  them 

While  her  arms  were  round  his  neck. 
There  were  now  no  loving  voices ; 

And  if  few  hands  offered  bread, 
There  was  none  to  rest  in  blessing 

On  the  little  homeless  head. 

But  she  prayed ;  and  the  Unsleeping 

In  His  ear  that  whisper  caught ; 
And  sent  down  sweet  Sleep  who  gave  her 

Such  a  respite  as  she  sought ; 
Drew  the  fair  head  to  her  bosom, 

Pressed  the  wetted  eyelids  close, 
And  with  softly  falling  kisses, 

Lulled  her  gently  to  repose. 

Then  she  dreamed  the  angels,  sweeping 

With,  their  wings  the  sky  aside, 
Eaised  her  swiftly  to  the  country 

Where  the  blessed  ones  abide  ; 
To  a  bower  all  flushed  with  beauty, 

By  a  shadowy  arcade, 
Where  a  mellowness  like  moonlight 

By  the  Tree  of  Life  was  made. 

Where  the  rich  fruit   sparkled,  star-like, 

And  pure  flowers  of  fadeless  dye 
Poured  their  fragrance  on  the  water 

That  in  crystal  beds  went  by ; 
Where  bright  hills  of   pearl  and  amber 

Closed  the  fair  green  valleys  round, 
And  with  rainbow  light,  but  lasting, 

Were  their  glistening  summits  crowned. 


4u  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Then,  that  distant-burning   glory, 

'Mid  a  gorgeousness  of  light, 
The  long  vista  of  archangels 

Could  scarce  chasten  to  her  sight. 
There  sat  One ;  and  her  heart  told  her 

'Twas  the  same  who,  for  our  sin, 
Once  was  born  a  little  baby, 

In  the  stable  of   an  inn. 

There  was  music,  oh,  such  music  ! 

They  were  trying  the  old  strains 
That  a  certain  group  of   shepherds 

Heard  on  old  Judea's  plains ; 
But,  when  that  divinest  chorus 

'To  a  softened  trembling  fell, 
Love's  true  ear  discerned  the  voices 

That  on  earth  she  loved  so  well. 

At  a  tiny  grotto's  entrance, 

A  fair  child  her  eyes  behold, 
With  his  ivory  shoulders  hidden 

'Neath  his  curls  of   brightest  gold ; 
And  he  asks  them,  "Is  she  coming?'* 

But  ere  anyone  can  speak, 
The  white  arms  of   her  twin  brother 

Are  once  more  about  her  neck. 

Then  they  all  come  round  her,  greeting  | 

But  she  might  have  well  denied 
That  her  beautiful  young  sister 

Is  the  poor  pale  child  that  died ; 
And  the  care-worn  look  hath  vanished 

From  her  father's  tearless  face, 
And  she  does  not  know  her   mother 

Till  she  feels  the  old  embrace. 

Oh,  from  that  ecstatic  dreaming, 
Must  she  ever  wake  again, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  41 

To  the  cold  and  cheerless  contrast, 

To  a  life  of  lonely  pain  ? 
But  her  Maker's  sternest  servant 

To  her  side  on  tip  toe  stepped, 
Told  his  message  in  a  whisper, 

And  she  stirred  not  as   she  slept ! 

Now  the  Christmas  morn  was  breaking 

With  a  dim,  uncertain  hue, 
And  the  chilling  breeze  of   morning 

Came  the  broken  window  through; 
And  the  hair  upon  her  forehead, 

Was  it  lifted  by  the  blast, 
Or  the  brushing  wings  of  seraphs 

With  their  burden  as  they  passed  ? 

All  the  festive  bells  were  chiming 

To  the  myriad  hearts  below  ; 
But  that  deep  sleep  still   hung  heavy 

On  the  sleeper's  thoughtful  brow. 
To  her  quiet  face,   the  dream-light 

Had  a  lingering  glory  given ; 
But  the   child  herself   was  keeping 

Her  glad  Christmas  day  in  heaven  ! 


A  CHILDISH  FANCY. 


Long  ago  in  our  childhood's  years 

We  thought,  my  brother  and  I, 
How  the  little  stars  in  their  golden  thrones 

As  they  shone  in  the  evening  sky 
Were  little  holes  in  heaven's  blue  door, 

Where  the  glory  came  shining  through. 
At  each  blink  we  thought  an  angel  passed 

And  hid  the  light  from  view. 


*2  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  IVORY  CRUCIFIX. 


G.    H.    MILES. 


TT^ITHIN  an  attic  old  at  Genoa,  full   many  a  year,  I  ween, 

Had  lain  a  block  of  ivory,  the  largest  ever  seen. 
A  monk  obtained,  and  to  his  cell  the  relic  rare  conveyed, 
And  bending  o'er  the  uncouth  block  this  monk,  communing,  said 

"Be  mine  the  happy  task  by  day  and  through  the  midnight's 

gloom, 
To  toil  and  still  toil  on  until  this  shapeless  mass  assume 
The  form  of  Him  who  on  the  cross  for  us  poured  forth  his  blood  ; 
Thus  man  shall  ever  venerate  this  relic  of  the  flood. 

Though  now  a  witness  to  the  wrath  of  the  dread  God  above, 
Changed  by  my  chisel,  it  shall  be  the  emblem  of  His  love." 
That  night,  when  on  his  pallet  stretched,  as  slumber  o'er  him  stole, 
A  glorious  vision  brightly  broke  upon  his  ravished  soul. 

He  sees  his  dear  Eedeemer  stand  on  Calvary's  sacred  height ; 
The  crucifixion  is  renewed  before  his  awe-struck  sight ; 
He  sees  his  Saviour's  pallid  cheek  with  pitying  tears  impearled, 
He  hears  His  dying  accents  bless  a  persecuting  world  ; 

Sees  the  last  look  of  love  supreme  conquering  each  aching  sense, 
Superior  to  agony  its  deep  benevolence. 

The  matin  bell  has  pealed — the  monk  starts  from  his  brief  repose ; 
But  still  before  his  waking  eye  the  vivid  dream  arose. 

His  morning  orisons  are  paid,  his  hand  the  chisel  wields, 
Slowly  before  the  eager  steel  the  stubborn  ivory  yields. 
And  now  from  every  blemish  freed,  upon  his  kindling  eye, 
In  all  its  pristine  beauty,  dawns  the  milk-white  ivory. 

The  sun  arose,  the  sun  went  down,  arose  and  set  again, 
But  still  the  monk  his  chisel  plies — oh  !  must  he  toil  in  vain  ? 
Not  his  the  highly  cultured  touch  that  bade  the  marble  glow, 
And  with  a  hundred  statues  linked  the  name  of  Angelo. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  43 

Perchance  some  tiny  image  he  had  fashioned  oft  before  ; 
But  Art  had  ne'er  to  him  unveiled  her  closely  hoarded  lore. 
Four  years  elapsed  befoic  the  monk  threw  his  worn  chisel  by  ; 
Complete  at  last  before  him  lies  the  living  ivory. 

His  dream  at  last  is  bodied  forth,  and  to  the  world  is  given — 
A  sight  that  well  may  wean  the  soul  from  earth  awhile  to  heaven. 
The  dying  look  of  love  supreme  conquering  each  aching  sense, 
Unquenched  by  burning  pain,  reveals  its  vast  benevolence. 

Behold  that  violated  cheek  with  pitying  tears  impearled, 
The  parting  lips  that  seem  to  bless  a  persecuting  world. 
Has  not  the  light  of  page  inspired  a  true  reflection  here  ; 
Does  not  the  sacrifice  of  love  in  ivory  re-appear  ? 


THE  DANDELIONS. 


TTPON  a  shadowy  night  and  still, 
^      Without  a  sound  of  warning, 
A  trooper  band  surprised  the  hill 
And  held  it  in  the  morning. 

We  were  not  waked  by  bugle  notes, 
No  cheer  our  dreams  invaded ; 

And  yet  at  dawn  their  yellow  coats 
On  the  green  slopes  paraded. 

We  careless  folk  the  deed  forgot, 

Till  one  day,  idly  walking, 
We  marked  upon  the  self-same  spot 

A  crowd  of  veterans  talking. 

They  shook  their  trembling  heads  and  gray 
With  pride  and  noiseless  laughter ; 

When,  well  a  day  !  they  blew  away, 
And  ne'er  were  heard  after ! 


44  WERNER'S  READINGS 


HARVEST   DRILL. 


ARRANGED    BY    SARA    S.    RICE. 


Costume  :  A, gathered  skirt  of  some  bright  material,  reaching  a  little  be 
low  the  knee,  and  a  loose  shirt-waist ;  a  coarse  farmer's  hat  set  jauntily  on  the 
head  (a  little  wheat  or  some  kind  of  grass  on  the  hat  will  add  greatly  to  the 
effect);  a  sickle  (if  the  blade  is  painted  red  or  some  bright  color,  it  produces  a 
very  bright  and  pretty  effect)  ;  a  tin  cup  suspended  from  the  waist ;  a  whet 
stone  stuck  in  the  belt. 

Explanation  of  terms  :  Up  the  stage  means  toward  the  back  ;  down  the 
stage  means  toward  the  front ;  R.  E.  means  right  entrance  ;  L.  E.  left  entrance 

The  music  n¥iy  be  any  good  march. 

Any  even  number  of  girls  may  take  part. 

Enter  in  single  file,  half  from  R  E.  and  half  from  L.  E.,  sickle  on  shoulder, 
Each  line  marches  in  a  narrowing  ciicle,  thus  forming  a  spiral  ;  and  when  the 
leader  reaches  the  centre,  she  turns  on  her  heel  and  leads  the  way  out  of  the 
spiral.  March  up  centre  of  stage,  along  back  of  stage  around  to  front,  every 
other  one  coming  to  the  front  row.  Recede  four  steps.  Half  of  the  girls  on 
the  front  row  and  the  half  on  the  back  nearest  R.  E.  turn  toward  R.  E.;  the 
other  half  turn  toward  L.  E.  March  around  stage,  and  as  the  lines  meet,  thread 
them  ;  that  is.  let  one  leader  pass  in  front  of  the  other,  then  behind  the  next 
girl,  in  front  of  the  next,  etc.  Each  line  continues  round  the  stage.  Each  girl 
stops  as  she  regains  her  former  place. 

A   TTENTION  ! 

i.  Prepare  :  (1)  take  sickle  from  shoulder  ;  (2)  put  it  in  left 
hand,  holding  in  front ;  (3,  4)  take  out  whetstone. 

2.     Sharpen-  :  counting  four. 

5.  Eeady  :  (1)  put  whetstone  back  ;  (2)  put  sickle  in  right 
hand  ;  (3,  4)  let  sickle  hang  at  side. 

4.  Single  File  :  Those  on  back  row  step  in  their  proper 
places,  between  girls  of  front  row. 

5.  Face  R.  E. 

6.  March,  swinging  sickle  as  if  cutting.  March  along  front  of 
stage  and  around  the  back  ;  then  along  front  again,  the  leader 
stopping  as  she  reaches  the  left  end,  and  every  other  girl  goes  onj 
the  back  row  again. 

7.  Pick  Stones  :  (1)  stoop  ;  (2,  3)  tap  end  of  sickle  on  floor 
twice  ;  (4)  original  position. . 


AND  RECITATIONS.  45 

8.  Wipe  Sick"le  :  (1)  put  sickle  in  left  hand  ;  (2)  pick  up 
rass  ;  (3)  wipe  sickle  several  times  ;  (4)  drop  grass  and  take  sickle 
n  right  hand. 

9.  Gaze  :  (1)  lift  sickle  up  ;  (2)  lean  forward,  placing  sickle 
>ver  eyes,  holding  handle  in  one  hand  and  point  in  other ;  (3) 
emain  stationary  ;  (4)  original  position. 

10.  Crescent  :  (1)  raise  sickle  ;  (2)  form  crescent,  the  even 
lumbers  counting  from  the  right  end,  placing  the  convex  edge  of 
iheir  sickle  near  the  concave  edge  of  their  partner's  sickle,  holding 
;hem  vertically  ;  (3)  remain  stationary  ;  (4)  original  position. 

11.  Arch  :  (1)  lift  sickle  in  front;  (2)  form  arch,  tapping 
mds  together  as  you  do  so  ;  (3)  the  two  forming  arch  together, 
iach  puts  her  free  arm  around  her  partner's  neck,  put  heads  close 
together,  and  look  through  arch  smiling  ;  (4)  original  position, 

12.  Interlace:  (1)  raise. sickle;  (2)  place  handles  together, 
slades  crossing  ;  (3)  remain  stationary  ;  (4)  original  position. 

13.  Front  row  swing  sickles  lightly,  touching  tin  cup;  those  on 
3nds  of  front  rows  march  toward  each  other,  thus  forming  circle. 
As  the  ends  meet,  each  girl  places  the  handle  of  her  sickle  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  girl  to  her  right,  the  sickle  partly  forming  a  frame 
around  the  girls'  faces.  Place  left  hand  on  hip  of  girl  to  the  left, 
then  go  around  toward  right  making  circle  once,  then  back  to  their 
original  positions.  They  step  between  girls  of  back  row,  thus  put- 
ting them  in  front  row.  While  fi'ont  row  is  doing  this  marching, 
the  back  row  keeps  time  by  tapping  tin  cup  with  sickle.  The  back 
row,  which  is  now  in  front,  goes  through  same  things  as  the  front 
row  did,  the  others  keeping  time  for  them. 

14.  Weary  :  (1)  break  ranks,  standing  in  any  position,  but 
keeping  a  straight  line  ;  (2)  place  left  hand  on  hip,  drooping  the 
head  to  right  resting  it  on  sickle,  eyes  drooped,  but  not  closed  ;  (3) 
remain  stationary;  (4)  original  position,  placing  sickle  in  left  hand. 

15.  Refreshing  :  (1)  take  handkerchief  from  pocket ;  (2) 
fan  with  it ;  (3)  wipe  face  ;  (4)  original  position,  hand  in  pocket. 

16.  Drinking  :  (1)  stoop,  taking  hold  of  cup  as  you  do  so ; 
(2)  dip  up  water  and  rise ;  (3)  drink  ;  (4)  original  i^osition,  placing 
sickle  in  right  hand. 


46  WERNER'S  READINGS 

17.  Gossip  :  (1)  incline  head  toward  neighbor,  eyes  looking 
in  opposite  direction  ;  (2)  place  sickle  in  front  of  mouth ;  (3)  remain 
stationary  ;  (4)  original  position. 

18.  Joy  :  (1)  take  tin  cup  in  left  hand  ;  (2)  raise  tin  cup  and 
sickle  in  front  of  eyes  ;  (3)  raise  them  over  the  head  until  meeting 
(here  there  may  be  an  exclamation,  as  "  Bravo,"  etc.);  (4)  original 
position. 

March  to  centre,  where,  meeting  partner,  form  arch  with  sickle 
and  march  to  left  of  platform,  columns  separate,  first  couple 
marching  through,  others  doing  likewise.  March  to  right  of  stage, 
then  to  middle,  then  off. 


THE  LITTLE    TIN  CUP. 


THOMAS   FROST. 


~\TTHOA,  Betty!    How  do,  sir?    Is  this  here  the  'sylum  for 

*  ^       folk  as  is  mad  ? 
It  air  ?     Wal,  my  Lucy's  to  hum,  sir  ;  not  ravin' ;  oh,  no,   jist 
a  fad. 

You  see,  it  were  this  how  :  last  harvest  we  parted  with  baby — 

with   Chick  ; 
The  pootiest  child  in  the  kentry;  the  rompinest,  'fore  he  got  sick, 
And  his  mother,  poor  gal,    took  it   badly  when  we  telled  her 

as  baby  was  dead, 
Eor  she  didn't  shed  tears  like  she'd  orter,  but  sot  thar  a-shakin' 

her  head. 

And  when  baby  was  put  in  the  parlor  she  crep'  sof'ly  up  to  the  box, 
And  we  heerd  her  say,  "Go  to  sleep,  darlin',"  as  she  brushed 

back  his  bootiful  locks. 
But  nex'   day    she    was    sleepin'  herself,    sir,   when  they  come 

from  the  taown  with  the  hearse, 
So  we  went   to  the  graveyard  without  her,   and  saved  her  the 

'sterics,  or  worse. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  4? 

iVal,  when  we  got  back  from  the  f un'ral,  thar  was  Lucy  a-gettin' 

the  tea ; 
3n  the  table  was  three  cups  and  saucers,  for  her  and  the  sis- 

ter  and  me; 
But  I  can't  tell   the   turn   as  it  give  me  to  see  on  the  cloth, 

polished  up,  , 

Jist  as  bright  as  it  shined  on  his  birthday,  our  poor  Chickey  s 

little  tin  cup  ! 
Then  the  sister  she   starts  in  a-cryin',  an'  says   she,   with  her 

face  very  white, 
"Lucy,   dear,    don't  you  know  that  the  baby  wont   want  any 

supper  to-night?" 
Then,  poor  gal,   she  jist  lifts  up  her  finger  and   she  points  it 

at  baby's  old  place,  ..._,'         .        ' 

And  she   says,    "Don't  the  tin    cup  look   dirty  along   o    that 

dazzlin'  face  ! " 
Ev'ry  mornin'    she's    up    with   the    daybreak,    a-scrubbin'  that 

poor  bit  o'  tin ;  ,       ...  ^, 

And  she's  still  at  it,   scourin'   and  rubbin',    when  the   shudders 

of  evenin'  comes  in  ; 
But  it's  black,  sir-as  black   as  the  kittle-compared  with  the 

child  as  sits  there, 
Shinin'  bright  with  the  glory  o'  heaven  ;    still  as  death  in  his 

little  high  chair  ! 
So   I've   come,    sir,    to   ask  you  to  take  her,  and  larn  her  that 

Chick's  gone  away 
To  a  place  whar  no  suff'rin'  kin  enter ;  no  rust,  nor  disease,  nor 

decay;  ,, 

But  ef    God   sent  this  stroke  as   a  mercy,    ef    the   doctors  an 

gives  Lucy  r.n,  ■  ,     ,' 

She  will  bring  back  a  heart  that    ain't  broken,  and  polish  the 

little  tin  cup. 


48  WERNER'S  READINGS 


LASS  DOROTHY. 


O 


H  !  it  was  a  sight  right  fearsome, 
Fit  to  curdle  the  stoutest  heart, 


That  little  craft  caught  in  the  teeth 

Of  the  hungry,  foaming  breakers, 

That  crunched  it  and  tore  it  and  broke  it  % 

Now  on  the  jagged  rocks  flinging, 

Then  catching  it  back,  as  tigers 

Sport  with  their  prey,  then  devour  it ; 

And  the  six  men  up  in  the  rigging, 

Clinging  and  praying  and  shuddering, 

As  one  would  shudder  who  looked 

Down  into  his  own   grave  open. 

All  the  fisher-folk  were  away — 

Six  leagues  away  to  the  northward,     - 

Where  the  night  before  they  had  sailed. 

On  the  sands  below  wer.e  only 

Three  old  men  peering  and  moaning  : 

"  Ah  !  if  we  were  young  as  we  once  were, 

Who  knows  but  that  we  might  save  them.'" 

And  the  women  were  wringing  their  hands 

With  quavering,  shrill  cries,  pitiful. 

Among  them,  poised  on  her  bare  feet, 
Like  a  bird  all  plumed,  for  flying, 
Her  brown  hair  streaming  and  tossing, 
Her  soft  cheeks  flushing  and  paling, 
But  her  eyes  clear,  stood  Lass  Dorothy. 
Straight  and  strong-limbed  and  sun-browned 
Was  she,  modest,   withal,   and  winsome. 
"Will  the  vessel  break  up  in  an  hour? 
If  I  thowt  so  lang  she  would  hing  there 
I'd  awa  for  the  life-boat/'  cried  she. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  49 

"Nay,   nay;,  lass,"  answered  old  Donald; 

"  Could  ye  gang  the  four  miles 

Ye  could  nae  cross  the  burn 

Swollen  to  bursting." 

"I'll  awa,"  spake  Dorothy,   nothing  more. 

And  swiftly  she  darted  off  to  the  moor, 

As  from  the  strained  bow  the  arrow  goes  leaping. 

For  a  mile  the  fierce  gale  she  battled  ; 

Then  down  to  the  sands  forced  to  scramble, 

Where  the  huge  waves  were  rolling, 

And  through  the  hollow  rocks  booming  their  thunder, 

Sped  on,   through  the  foam  flashing 

Knee-deep,  ever  fighting  for  footing. 

What  though  her  heart  sank  ?     In  she  plunged— 

For  oh,  the  men  that  were  drowning  ! 

Waist  deep,   then  over  head  sinking, 

Seized  by  a  swirling  eddy, 

Struggling  up  to  her  feet,  on  pressing  again. 

So  reached  she  at  last  the  house 

Where  lived  the  coxswain  of  the  life-boat, 

And  sank  at  the  threshhold,  swooning, 

But  gasping  with  wan  lips:  "The  schooner 

On  the  letch — nor'ward  ! "     Well  knew  the  coxswain 

The  need  that  had  sent  her. 

"Look  after  the  lass,  good  wife,"  he  shouted, 

And  ran  for  the  life-boat. 

The  blessed  life-boat  !     How  it  shot  out 

Into  the  surges,  bounding  away  and  away — 

Around  the  point — close  up  to  the  rock  undaunted. 

And  lo  !  the  six  men  dropped  into  it 

Saved,  as  solemnly  joyful 

As  if  into  heaven  they  had  come 

Out  of  death  with  its  chrism  on  their  forehead. 

Only  a  simple  lass  still  is  Dorothy, 

Never  dreaming  she  has  done  aught  heroic. 


SO  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Yet  sometimes  o'  nights,  when  the 
Storm-wind  is  out,  she  smiles 
As  she  lays  her  head  on  its  rude  straw-pillow, 
To  think  of  the  six  men  somewhere  safe, 
Because  she  dared  through  the  gale  and  the  foam 
To  run  four  miles  for  the  life-boat. 


THE  BEE'S  SERMON. 


C\  OOD  MORNING,  dear  friends  !      I'm  a  clever  young  bee 

^      And  a  sermon  I'll  preach  if  you'll  listen  to  me ; 

It  will  not  be  long  and  it  will  not  be  dry, 

And  your  own  common-sense  my  remarks  may  apply. 

Not  slothful  in  business  must  be  the  first  head, 
For  with  vigor  we  work  till  the  sun  goes  to  bed ; 
And  unless  one  is  willing  to  put  forth  one's  powers 
There  is  no  getting  on  in  a  world  such  as  ours. 

We  are  fond  of  our  dwellings ;    no  gossips  are  we, 
No  gadders  about  idle  neighbors  to  see  ; 
And  though  we  are  forced   for  our  honey  to  roam, 
We  come  back  as  soon  as  we  can  to  our  home. 

"  The  way  to  be  happy  and  wealthy  and  wise 
Is  early  to  rest  and  early  to  rise." 
This  proverb  has  molded  our  conduct  for  years, 
And  we  never  sleep  when  the  daylight  appears. 

If  you  were  to  peep  in  our  hives  you  would  own 
That  as  models  of  cleanliness  they  might  be  shown ; 
All  dust  and  all  dirt,  without  any  delay, 
Are  swept  from  our  door  and  soon  carried  away. 


AND  RECITATIONS.      .  51 

kVhen  one  of  our  number  is  sick  or  distressed, 
3e  is  sure  of  kind  treatment  from  each  of  the  rest ; 
We  sympathize  warmly  with  those  who're  in  grief, 
find  are  eager  to  proffer  immediate  relief. 

We  carry  our  stings  not  on  any  pretense 
For  aggressive  attack,  but  in  self-defense ; 
We  meddle  with  no  one,  and  only  repel 
issailants  who  will  not  in  peace  with  us  dwell. 

Sow  my  sermon  is  ended,  and  you,  if  you  please, 
Some  hints  may  derive  from  us  hard-working  bees  ; 
May  your  life  be  as  useful,  your  labors'  as  sweet, 
^.nd  may  you  have  plenty  of  honey  to  eat  ! 


N  O  ! 


SOMEBODY  asked  me  to  take  a  drink, 
What  did  I  tell  him  ?    What  do  you  think  ? 
I  told  him — No. 

Somebody  asked  me  one  day  to  play 
A  game  of  cards  ;  and  what  did  I  say  ? 
I  told  him — No. 

Somebody  laughs  that  I  will  not  swear 
A.nd  lie  and  steal ;  but  I  do  not  care  ; 
I  told  him — No. 

Somebody  asked  me  to  take  a  sail 
On  the  Sabbath  day  ;  'twas  of  no  avail ; 
I  told  him — No. 

"If  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not/* 
My  Bible  said,  and  so  on  the  spot 
I  told  him — No. 


53  .  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  LILY. 


ANNIE   WALL. 


/^vlSTCE,  when  this  grand  old  earth  was  young, 
^~J      An  angel  thought  to  bring 
From  earth's  fair  fields  a  blossom  sweet 
To  offer  to  his  King. 

He  wandered  o'er  the  fertile  fields, 
He  gazed  on  blossoms  bright ; 

Too  bright  they*  seemed  for  his  desire, 
Too  gay  to  please  his  sight. 

"Oh  !  for  a  pure,  white  flower,"  he  sighed, 

"Fit  for  my  King  to  wear." 
Though  long  he  sought,  no  flower  of  white 

Was  blooming  anywhere. 

So,  worn  and  weary,  he  sat  down 

To  weep  that  none  were  found ; 

His  crystal  tears  flowed  o'er  his  robe 
And  sank  into  the  ground. 

At  once  a  lily  white  sprang  up, 

All  pure,  his  gaze  to  meet ; 
Singing,  he  gathered  it  and  flew 

And  laid  it  at  God's  feet. 

Pleased  was  his  King.     "  This  flower,"  He  said, 

"  Because  of  this  shall  grow, 
Henceforth,  a  sign  to  sinful  man, 

O'er  all  the  earth  below." 

Thus  came  the  lily,   pure  and  fair  ; 

Who  looks  may  read  this  sign 
In  its  white  cup,  the  angel's  tears, 

The  purity  divine. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  To6 


FRIAR  SERVETUS. 


CLIFFORD    LAXIER. 


rpHE  Monk  Servetus  sits  alone 
-*-      Within  his  small,  unfurnished  cell; 
Few  comforts  were  this  hermit's  own — 
This  anchorite  of  book  and  bell. 

Communion  brings  companionship. 

And  lo  !  he  is  not  all  alone ;  , 

A  greeting  trembles  on   his  lip 

For  that  which  sudden  round  him  shone. 

In  ecstacy  of  great  delight 

He  bends  to  grasp  his  Saviour's   hands; 
Big,   joyful  tears  spring  at  the  sight ; 

He  knows  not  if  he  kneels  or  stands. 

Alas  !     Now  strikes   a  hateful  sound, 
The  jingle  of  the  postern  door ; 

It  stings  him  like  a  poisoned  wound, 

And  summons  him   to  feed  the  poor. 

Vexation  springs  within  his  beart; 

A  dark  frown  shadows  o'er  his  face  ; 
The  menial  task,   the  drudge's  part 

Calls  yonder;  here  is  Christ's  high  grace. 

He  goes  with  pang  and  footstep  slow, 
Is  long  detained  by  hunger's  moan  ; 

He  hastens  back  from  mortal  woe 

To  kiss  the   bare  stone  where  He  shone. 

What  tender  yoice  breaks  on  his  ear  ? 

The  light  is  as  of  Easter  morn  : 
"  As  thou  didst  go,  I  still  am  here  ; 

Hadst  thou  remained,   I  had  been  gone." 


54  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  MONKS'  MAGNIFICAT. 


E.    NESBIT. 


[The  musical  accompaniment  begins  with  the  8th  and  continues  to  the  13t 
stanza.  An  organ  should  be  used  if  possible,  and  the  psalm  played  soft  an< 
low  while  the  speaker  is  reciting.  The  music  swells  forth  when  the  recite 
chants,  then  subsides  to  a  low,  sweet  strain  like  an  under-current  as  the  nam 
tive  goes  on.  The  "  Gloria  Patri "  should  be  sung  very  softly  yet  clearly;  th 
other  versicles  grandly,  with  all  the  beauty  and  power  of  your  voice.] 


"T~K  midst  of  wide,  green  pasture  lands,  cut  through 
-1-     By  lines  of  alderd,  bordering  deep-banked  streams, 
Where  bulrushes  and  yellow  iris  grew 

And  rest  and  peace,  and  all  the  flowers  of  dreams, 
The  abbey  stood — so  still,  it  seemed  a  part 
Of  the  marsh-country's  almost  pulseless  heart. 

And  all  the  villages  and  hamlets  near 

Knew  the  monks'  wealth  and  how  their  wealth  was  spent. 
In  tribulation,  sickness,  want,  or  fear, 

First  to  the  abbey  all  the  peasants  went 
Certain  to  find  a  welcome,  and  to  be 
Helped  in  the  hour  of  their  extremity. 

They,  in  their  simple  ways  and  works,  were  glad ; 

Yet  all  men  must  have  sorrows  of  their  own. 
And  so  a  bitter  grief  the  brothers  had, 

Nor  mourned  for  others'  heaviness  alone. 
This  Avas  the  secret  of  their  sorrowing  : 
That  not  a  monk  in  all  the  house  could  sing! 

If  love  could  sweeten  voice  to  sing  a  song, 
Theirs  had  been  sweetest  song  was  ever  sung; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  55 

But  their  hearts'  music  reached  their  lips  all  wrong, 
Their  souls'  intent  foiled  by  the  traitorous  tongue 
That  marred  the  chapel's  peace,  and  seemed  to  scare 
The  rapt  devotion  lingering  in  the  air. 

The  brothers  prayed  with  penance  and  with  tears 
That  God  would  let  them  give  some  little  part 

Out  for  the  solace  of  their  own  sad  ears 
Of  all  the  music  crowded  in  their  heart. 

Their  nature  and  the  marsh  air  had  their  way, 

And  still  they  sang  more  harshly  every  day. 

And  all  their  prayers  and  fasts  availing  not 
To  give  them  voices  sweet,  their  souls'  desire, 

The  abbot  said  :  "  Gifts  He  did  not  allot, 
God  at  our  hands  will  not  again  require; 

Praise  Him  we  must,  and  since  we  cannot  praise 

As  we  would  choose,  we  praise  Him  in  our  ways." 

But  one  good  brother,  anxious  to  remove 

This,  the  reproach  now  laid  on  them  so  long, 

Eejected  counsel,  and  for  very  love 

Besought  a  brother,  skilled  in  art  of  song, 

To  come  to  them — his  cloister  far  to  leave— 

And  sing  "Magnificat"  on  Christmas  eve. 

[Music  begins;  playing  clearer  as   the  reciter  commences   to 
chant,  then  soft  and  low  until  he  chants  again.] 


=T=t 


-&= 


*    m 


^=^E^^EE^ 


Ma    -    -    gni    -    -    Scat  anima        me  -  a     Dominum 


3=* 


g-,    IN 


^=BE=s=l=l 


Et      ex  -  ultavit  spiritus  me  -   U3     in  Deosalu-ta  -  ri     me   -    o. 


56  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  when- the  time  for  singing  it  had  come, 

With  pure  face  raised,  and  sweetest  voice,  he  sang  : 

"  Magnificat  anima    mea   Dominum,  et   exultavit  spiriius 
metis  :  in  Deo  salutari  meo." 

Each  in  his  stall  the  monks  stood  glad  and  dumb, 
As  through   the  chancel's  dusk  his  voice  outrang, 

Pare,  clear  and  perfect — as  the  thrushes  sing 

Their  first  impulsive  welcome  of  the  spring. 

At  the  first  notes  the  abbot's  heart  spoke  low  : 
"  Oh,    God,  accept  this  singing,    seeing  we, 

Had   we  the  power,  would   ever  praise  Thee  so — 

Would,  ever,  Lord,  Thou  know'st,  sing  thus  for  Thee;  . 

Thus  in  our  hearts  Thy  hymns  are  ever  sung, 

As  he  Thou  blessest  sings  them  with  his  tongue." 

But  as  the  voice  rose  higher,   and  more  sweet, 


:4M g= zg 

= =± 


Su  -  see  -  pit  Israel  puerum  su-um,recordatusmisericor-di-ae  su  -  ae. 
"Suscepit  Israel  puerum  suum,  recordatus  misericordice  sum." 

The  abbot's  heart  said  :     "  Thou  hast  heard  us  grieve, 
And  sent  an  angel  from    beside  Thy  feet, 

To  sing  'Magnificat'  on  Christmas  eve, 
To  ease  our  ache  of  soul,  and  let  us  see 
How   we  some  day  in  heaven  shall  sing  to  Thee/' 

.  The  white  moon  through  the  window  seemed  to  gaze 
On  the  pure  face  and  eyes  the  singer  raised; 
The  storm-wind  hushed  the  clamor  of  its  ways, 
God  seemed  to  stoop  to  hear  Himself  thus  praised  ; 
.  And  breathless  all  the  brothers  stood,  and  still 
Beached  longing  souls  out  to  the  music's  thrill. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  57 

Old  years  came  back,   and  half -forgotten  hours, 

Dreams  of  delight  that  never  was  to  he, 
Mother's  remembered  kiss,  the  funeral  flowers 

Laid  on  the  grave  of  life's  felicity ; 
An  infinite  dear  passion  of  regret 
Swept  through  their  hearts,  and  left  their  eyelids  wet. 


§ 


=t 


^E^^feE 


Mb — g— =p--HzMr=^— £=1S=^=\ 


Glo    -   ria  Patri  et     Fi    -    lio      et  Spiri    -     tu    -  i      san  -  cto. 

"Gloria  Patri  et  Filio  tt  Spiritui  Sancto." 
[Music  ceases.] 


When,   service  done,   the  brothers  gathered  round 
To  thank  the  singer — modest-eyed  said  he  : 
'•'  Not  mine  the  grace,   if  grace  indeed  abound, 
God  gave  the  power,   if  any  power  there  be ; 
If  I  in  hymn  or  psalm  clear  voice  can  raise, 
As  His  the  gift,   so  His  be  all  the  praise!" 

That  night,  the  abbot  lying  on  his  bed, 
A  sudden  flood  of  radiance  on  him  fell, 

Poured  from  the  crucifix  above  his  head, 
And  cast  a  stream  of  light  across  his  cell; 

And  in  the  fullest  fervor  of  the  light 

An  angel  stood,  glittering  and  great  and  white. 

The  angel  spoke — his  voice  was  low  and  sweet 
As  the  sea's  murmur  on  low-lying  shore, 

Or  whisper  of  the  wind  in  ripened  wheat : 
"Brother,*'  he   said,  "the  God  we  both  adore 

Hath  sent  me  down  to  ask,   is  all  not  right? 

Whv  was  '  Magnificat'  not  sung  to-night?" 


58  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Tranced  in  the  joy  the  angel's  presence  brought, 
The  abbot  answered  :     "  All  these  weary  years 

We've  sung  our  best,  but  always  have  we  thought 
Our  voices  were  unworthy  heavenly  ears  ; 

And  so  to-night  we  found  a  clearer  tongue, 

And  by  it  the  'Magnificat'  was  sung." 

The  angel  answered  :     "  All  these  happy  years 
In  heaven  has  your  '  Magnificat '  been  heard ; 

This  night  alone,  the  angels'  listening  ears 
Of  all  its  music  caught  no  single  word. 

Say,  who  is  he  whose  goodness  is  not  strong 

Enough  to  bear  the  burden  of  his  song?" 

The  abbot  named  his  name.     "Ah,  why,"  he  cried, 
"Have  angels  heard  not  what  we  found  so  dear?" 

"Only  pure  hearts,"  the  angel's  voice  replied, 
' '  Can  carry  human  song  up  to  God's  ear ; 

To-night  in  heaven  was  missed  the  sweetest  praise 

That  ever  rises  from  earth's  mud-stained  maze. 

"  The  monk  who  sang  'Magnificat'  is  filled 
With  love  of  praise,  and  witli  inanity ; 
He  sings  for  earth — in  heaven  his  notes  are  stilled 

By  muffling  weight  of  deadening  vanity  ; 
His  heart  is  chained  to  earth  and  cannot  bear 
His  singing  higher  than  the  listening  air  ! 

e<  From  purest  hearts  most  perfect  music  springs ; 

And  while  you  mourned  your  voices  were  not  sweet, 
Marred  by  the  accident  of  earthly  things, 

In  heaven,  God,  listening,  judged  your  song  complete. 
The  sweetest  of  earth's  music  came  from  you — 
The  music  of  a  noble  life  and  true  ! " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  59 

THE  KING'S  BELL. 


f\NCE  upon  a  time,  after  a  long  and  honorable  reign,  a  king 
Pf     lay  dying.     He  called  to  him  his  son  and  heir,  and  said  : 

"  The  rights  of  a  king  will  one  day  come  to  naught ;  he  who 
jeems  to  rule  is  the  veriest  slave  of  all.  You  must  look  for  noth- 
ng  but  a  life  of  trouble,  and  consider  yourself  fortunate  if  you  can 
me  day  die  in  peace." 

But  the  prince,  being  young  and  full  of  hope,  and  having  the 
wilfulness  and  inexperience  of  youth,  protested,  as  young  persons 
will,  that  he  knew  better. 

"The  cares  of  state/'  he  said,  "shall  sit  lightly  upon  me.  The 
life  of  a  king  should  be  one  long  holiday.  I  will  show  my  cour- 
tiers and  all  the  world  what  true  happiness  means.  What  is  the 
ase  of  being  a  king  if  one  cannot  be  happy  ?  Why,  a  bird  in  the 
lir  or  a  peasant  in  the  field  is  better  off  than  that  !  I  am  in  no 
hurry  for  my  kingdom — indeed,  most  dear  father,  I  am  not ;  but  1 
shall  be  a  happy  king." 

While  he  spoke  his  father  sighed  and  died.  When  the  royal 
mourning  was  over  the  new  king  ordered  that  a  bell  of  silver  should 
be  placed  upon  the  top  of  the  palace  in  a  high  tower.  Attached  to 
it  were  many  ropes,  so  arranged  to  connect  with  the  rooms  below 
that  wherever  the  king  might  be  one  should  be  always  near  his 
hand. 

"Whenever  I  am  happy  I  shall  ring  the  bell,"  he  told  his  cour- 
tiers and  friends  ;  "and  that,  you  shall  see,  will  be  often,  for  I  am 
sure  that  my  father's  dying  words  were  mistaken  ones.  Yes,  I  shall 
be  a  happy  king." 

So  the  years  slipped  by  ;  and,  though  they  listened,  his  people 
never  heard  the  bell.  One  thing  after  another  prevented  the  king 
from  ringing  it.  "  When  I  get  through  this  grievous  affair  of 
state,"  he  would  say,  "I  shall  be  happy."  But  that  affair  would 
be  succeeded  by  another.  Then  he  would  murmur  :  "  This  wai 
over,  peace  will  come,  and  the  bell  can  be  heard  after."  But  be- 
fore his  hand  could  clasp  the  bell-rope,  word  would  be  brought  of 
other  outbreaks.     So  the  bell  was  silent. 


60  WERNER'S  READINGS 

At  last  he,  like  his  father,  lay  with  his  life  slipping  away.  The 
priests  came  in  good  time  to  administer  the  last  sacraments.  A 
noise  of  weeping  floated  through  the  palace. 

"  What  sound  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  king.  They  dared  not  tell 
him.  "  I  command  you  to  tell  me,"  he  said  to  the  grand  chamber- 
lain, but  he  turned  away  his  face.  A  priest  stepped  toward  him 
and  said  : 

"The  people,  your  majesty,  are  weeping  because  you  are  soon 
to  leave  them." 

"Am  I  dying  ?  " 

"You  are  in  grievous  danger  of  death,  and  should  think  of 
your  departing  soul." 

"And  my  people  love  me  so  that  they  weep  because  I  am  to 
leave  them  ?  "  he  demanded,  eagerly. 

"  Sire,  they  would  gladly  die  for  you,  they  love  you  so,"  an- 
swered the  priest. 

Then  such  a  beautiful  look  as  no  one  there  had  ever  seen  over- 
spread the  face  of  the  dying  king.  He  reached  out  his  hand,  rang 
the  bell,  and  with  its  sweet  and  silver  clangor  sounding,  and  the 
consolations  of  Holy  Church  filling  his  soul,  he  passed  to  the 
rest  of  paradise. 

CHARITY. 


R.  W.  LANIGAN. 


Once  in  a  race  I  stood  well  front, 

And  I  saw  the  prize  was  mine  that  day, 
When  a  wanderer  bade  me  stop  and  tell 

Of  two  roads  which  was  the  better  way. 
I  gazed  on  his  face  ;  it  was  wan  and  worn, 

'Twould  have  pained  my  heart  to  say  him  nay. 
I  stopped  and  guided  him  on  his  path, 

And  he  blessed  me  as  he  turned  away. 
My  race  was  lost  and  my  rival  won, 
But  my  heart  felt  better  for  what  I'd  done. 


AND   RECITATIONS.  61 


TALE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  FIRE. 


T   WILL  tell  you  the  tale  of   the  terrible  fire  ; 

-*-     It  springs  from  the  earth — it  is  dreadful  and   dire. 

In  the  dark 

Wintry  sky, 
See  the  spark 

Upward   fly  ! 
See  it  grow 

In  its  frame—' 
See  it  glow 

Into  flame  ! 

See  it  burning  and  blazing; 

See  it  spring  into  life 
With  a  vigor  amazing — 

How  it  longs  for  the  strife ! 
Hear  the  noise  and  the   rattle ; 

How  it  swells,  how  it  grows! 
Like  the  crash  of  a  battle, 

Like  the  clash  of  the  foes  ! 

See  it  rushing  and  rising  and  roaring, 

See  it  trying  to  touch  a  tall  star; 
It  seems  in  the  sky  to  be  soaring 

Like  a  flag  of  fierce  flame  from  afar. 
See  it  turning  and  burning  and  braving, 

See  it  streaming  and  gleaming  and  red ! 
Ah  !   the  smoke  in  the  air  is  now  waving 

Like  a  winding-sheet  of  dull  lead. 

Hear  it  laugh  with  wild  glee  at  each  futile  endeavor 

To  quench  or  to  quell  its  exuberant  force  ; 
It  is  flaming  and  free  and  fantastic  forever; 


62  WERNER'S  READINGS 

It  delights  and   exults  with  no  pang  of  remorse. 
With  no  pain,  with  but  passion,  mad  passion,  it  quivers, 

With  its  pennon  of  scarlet  the  bloodiest  hue ; 
With  its  bright  gleaming  streams  and  its  roaring  of 'rivers, 

It  dares  to  do  all  things  that  flame  dares  to  do. 

How  it  darts,  how  it  dances  and  dashes, 

As  though  it  had  taken  for  aim, 
To  reduce  all  the  world  into   ashes 

And  to  fling  all  the  stars  into  flame  ! 
It  is  glittering  and  glowing  and  glaring— 

And  raging  it  rings  its  own  knell; 
It  is  showing  its  wonderful  daring — 

It  is  turning  the  sky  into  hell. 

How  it  lazily  lingers 

With  its  swell  and  its  fall ; 
With  its  fiery  fingers 

Wierdly  waving  a  pall ; 
With  its  horrible  hisses 

Like  the  wind  in  a  storm  ; 
With  its  blistering  kisses, 

On  face  and  on  form ! 

Of  its  flashes 

Bereft, 
Only  ashes 

Are  left. 
Till  its  cries 

Tell  its  doom — 
And  it  dies 

In  the  gloom. 

I  have  told  you  the  tale  of  the  terrible  fire; 

It  has  sung  its  last   song  to  its  luminous  lyre; 

It  has  sung  its  last  song,  it  has  breathed  its  last  breath, 

It  has  lived  without  life,  it  has  died  without  death. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  63 

SOMETHING    GREAT. 


F.  TYLER. 


rpHE  trial  was  ended,  the  vigil  was  past, 
-*-     All  clad  in  his  arms  was  the  knight  at  last ; 
The  goodliest  knight  in  the  whole  wide  land, 
"With  a  face  that  shone  with  a  purpose  grand. 
The  king  looked  on  him  with  gracious  eyes 
And  said  :  "  He  is  meet  for  some  high  emprise." 
To  himself  he  thought:  "I  will  conquer  fate; 
I  will  surely  die,  or  do  something  great." 

So  from  the  palace  he  rode  away. 

There  was  trouble  and  need  in  the  town  that  day; 

A  child  had  strayed  from  its  mother's  side 

Into  the  woodland  dark  and  wide. 
"  Help  ! "  cried  the  mother,  with  sorrow  wild  ; 
"Help  me,  Sir  Knight,  to  seek  my  child, 

The  hungry  wolves  in  the  forest  roam — 

Help  me  to  bring  my  lost  one  home!" 

He  shook  her  hand  from  his  bridle  rein  : 
"Alas  !  poor  mother,  you  ask  in  vain; 
Some  meaner  succor  may  do  maybe, 
Some  squire  or  varlet  of  low  degree. 
There  are  mighty  wrongs  in  the  world  to .  right ; 
I  keep  my  sword  for  a  noble  fight. 
I  am  sad  at  heart  for  your  baby's  fate, 
But  I  ride  in  haste  to  do  something  great." 

One  wintry  night,  when  the  sun  had  set, 
A  blind  old  man  by  the  way  he  met. 
"  Now,  good  Sir  Knight,  for  our  Lady's  sake, 
On  the  sightless  wanderer  pity  take. 
The  wind  blows  cold  and  the  sun  is  down  ; 


64  WERNER  'S  READ1JS GS 

Lead  me,  I  pray,  till  I  reach  the  town." 

"Nay!"  said  the  knight,  "I  cannot  wait, 

I  ride  in  haste  to  do  something  great." 

So  on  he  rode  in  his  armor  bright, 

His  sword  all  keen  for  the  longed-for  fight. 

"Laugh  with  us,  laugh,"  cried  the  merry  crowd. 

"  Oh,  weep  !"  wailed  others,  with  sorrow  bowed. 

"Help  us! "the  weak  and  weary  prayed, 
But  for  joy,  nor  grief,  nor  need,  he  stayed. 
And  the  years  rolled  on,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim, 
And  he  died,  and  none  made  moan  for  him. 

He  missed  the  good  that  he  might  have  done ; 
He  missed  the  blessings  he  might  have  won, 
Seeking  some  glorious  task  to  find, 
His  eyes  to  all  humble  work  were  blind. 
He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least, 
Is  bidden  to  sit  at  the  heavenly  feast ; 
Yet  men  and  women  lament  their  fate, 
If  they  be  not  called  to  do  something  great. 


A    BOY'S    COMPOSITION    ON    BREATHING. 


"We  breathe  with  our  lungs,  our  lights,  our  kidneys  and 
livers.  If  it  wasn't  for  our  breath  we  would  die  when  we  si 
Our  breath  keeps  the  life  agoing  through  the  nose  when  we 
asleep. 

'  "Boys  who  stay  in  a  room  all  day  should  not  breathe, 
should  wait  until  they  got  out  in  the  fresh  air.  Boys  in  a  r 
make  bad  air  called  carbonicide.  Carbonicide  is  as  poisor 
mad  dogs.  A  lot  of  soldiers  were  once  in  a  black  hole  in  Calc 
and  carbonicide  got  in  there  and  killed  them. 

"  Girls  sometimes  ruin  the  breath  with  corsets  that  squeeze 
diagram.  A  big  diagram  is  the  best  for  the  right  kino 
breathing." 


AND  RECITATIONS,  C5 


'HE  FUNERAL    OF   THE  MOUNTAINS. 


PEED   EMERSOJST    BROOKS. 


"jV/TOUKN,  great  McGregor,  mourn  !   Thou  youngest  of 

JJLL     rpjjg  mountains  newly  born  ;   bow   down  thy  head 

And  weep  into  the  valley  rivulets 

Of  tears.     Draw  round  thee  close  thy  sombre,  dark 

And  heavy  robe  of  pines.     It  is  thy  cloak 

Of  mourning  and  thy  crape  ;    thou  hast  most  need 

To  mourn,   being  most  blessed.     But  yesterday 

Thou  wert  unknown  and  insignificant ; 

To-day  thou  art  immortal   made,   because 

Thou  art  the  death-bed  of  our  beloved  Grant ; 

Bocause  the  nation's  hero  made  of  thee 

A  stepping-stone  to  heaven. 

Thou  art  become 
The  country's  shrine,  where  weeping  Liberty 
Hath  come  to  shed  her  tears.     Around  thy  base 
Is  marshalled  that  innumerable  host 
Of  soldiers  slain  in  Freedom's  cause,  and  with 
Them  is  the  silent  throng  in  gray — with  heads 
Uncovered  all,  beneath  one  flag  that  droops 
Fresh  wet  with  heaven's  tears,  the  dew.     Those  coats 
Which  once  were  blue  have  faded  into  gray  ; 
Grave  ashes  bring  one  color  to  them  all. 
With   guns  all  stacked   within  the  silent  wood 
:  They  stretch  their  phantom  tents  in  bivouac  weird— 
A  spectre  guard — Grand  Army  of  the  Dead  ! 
Thy  cooling  breeze  hath   kissed  his  fevered   cheek 
These  long,  long  waiting  hours  how  gratefully; 
Thy  sentry   pines  swayed   with  the  fleeting  pulse 


CG  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  whispered  undisturbingly,   "All's  well  !" 
When  all  was  o'er  their  wailing  message  went 
Along  the  clouds,  that  fleecy  telephone, 
To  Lookout  Mount,  whose  rusty  cannon's  boom 
Seemed  like  the  tolling  clock  of  destiny, 
Slow  striking,  Sixty-three. 

For  such  an  one 
No  common  sepulture  !    Be  thou  his  bier, 
His  catafalque  !     Let  battle  mountains  make 
His  funeral  train  !     Call   Lookout  from  the  clouds, 
With  Mission  Ridge,  Ball's  Bluff,  and  Malvern  Hill, 
South  Mountain,   Champion  Hill,  great  Cumberland, 
Pea  Ridge,  and  those  that  shut  in  Gettysburg ; 
With  Rural  Hill  and  Drury's  Bluff,  the  Heights 
Of  Maryland,  and  Harper's  Ferry  walls ; 
With  those  that  frown  on  Shenandoah's  plain  ; 
Each  hill  where  war  hath  ploughed  great  furrows  up, 
Each  slope  with  human  abatis  of  slain, 
Each  mound  where  fiery  battle  steeds  have  pranced, 
Impatient  of  the  smoke.     E'en  that  small  knoll 
At  Appomatox,  where  Rebellion  gave 
Its  sabre  up  and  Slavery  made  her  tomb  ; 
Let  Heaven,  muffling  up  her  thunder  drum, 
Sound  reveille  to  summon  all  to  this 
Great  funeral.     In  military  line 
Procession  make,  with  solemn  obsequies, 
While  ocean  waves  on  either  shore  in  great 
Sabaoth  "  Triste  Vale"  chant. 

With  pick 
And  spade  think  not  to  make  thy  hero's  bed  ! 
In  Donelson's  firm  walls  impregnable 
His  mausoleum  make — fit  catacomb — 
And,  soldier-like,  wrapped  in  his  country's  flag, 
There    let  him  hold  the  fort  forevermore. 
Take  shattered  cannon  from  the  battlefield 
Well  molten  in  hot  Sumter's  crucible, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  67 

And  cast  a  monument  overtopping  that 
Of  "  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World/' 
And  on  its  base  inscribe  with  sabre  point : 
"  Our  hero  dead,   who  never  battle  lost, 
To  heaven  surrendered  unconditional." 


WHY  THE  ROBIN'S  BREAST  IS  RED. 


JAMES  R.  RANDALL. 


rpHE  Saviour,  bowed  beneath  His  cross, 
-*-      Climbed  up  the  dreary  hill, 
And  from  the  agonizing  wreath 

Ean  many  a  crimson  rill ; 
The  cruel  Roman  thrust  Him  on 

With  unrelenting  hand — 
Till,  staggering  slowly  'mid  the  crowd, 

He  fell  upon  the  sand. 
A  little  bird  that  warbled  near, 

That  memorable  da}r, 
Flitted  around  and  strove  to  wrench 

One  single  thorn  away  ; 
The  cruel  spike  impaled  his  breast 

And  thus,  'tis  sweetly  said, 
The  Robin  has  his  silver  vest 

Incarnadined  with  red. 
Ah,  Jesu  !  Jesu  !  Son  of  man  ! 

My  dolor  and  my  sighs 
Reveal  the  lesson  taught  by  this 

Winged  Ishmael  of  the  skies. 
I,  in  the  palace  of  delight, 

Or  cavern  of  despair, 
Have  plucked  no  thorns  from  Thy  dear  brow 

But  planted  thousands  there. 


■■y- 


68  WERNER'S  READINGS 

* 

A  CASUALTY. 
- 
(J  

rpHE  morning  papers  contained  among  their  casualties  the  : 
-*-  lowing  paragraph  :  "  Run  over. — Yesterday  afternoon 
unknown  bootblack,  aged  about  eight,  was  run  over  at  the  cor 
of  Blank  street.     St.  Vincent's  Hospital." 

Only  one  short,  sharp  cry,  followed  by  the  hoarse  shouts 
several  men,  that  was  all.  Theg^arried  him  to  the  sidewalk,  i 
as  the  crowd  gathered  around  him,  some  one  coming  by  stopj 
and  asked,  "What  is  it?"  "  Only  another  bootblack  hurt/ 
the  careless  response,  and  the  questioner  passed  on.  The  ami 
lance  came.  The  crowd  made  way,  then  separated,  and  the  ir 
dent  was  forgotten.     Nobody  knew  him,  nobody  cared. 

The  hospital  slept,  all  but  the  sister  who  kept  her  vigil  bes 
one  little  cot,  rising  at  intervals  to  scan  the  pale  face  that  lay 
the  pillow.  No  sound  but  the  breathing  of  the  patients  and  1 
monotonous  tick-tick  of  the  great  clock  broke  the  stillness. 

Presently  there  was  a  movement ;  the  little  white  face  turai 
its  eyes  toward  the  watcher,  and  a  feeble  voice  asked  : 

"  Say,  where  be  I  ?  " 

' '  You  are  in  a  good  place,  child 

It  was  still  again  for  a  moment,  and  then, — 

"  Say,  missus,  where's  my  box  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  expect  it  was  lost." 

"  Lost  ?    Oh,  yes,  now  I  know.     I  was  runned  over,  wasn't  I 

"  Yes.     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Tommy." 

"Tommy  what  ?" 

"  Jest  Tommy." 

"  But  you  must  have  another  name." 

"  No'm,  I  aint." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  mother's  name  ?" 

"I  aint  got  no  mother,  I  had  one  oncet,  but  she's  dead." 

The  kind  face  bent  down  to  kiss  him,  and  he  murmured,  — 


AND  RECITATIONS.  69 

I  She  used  to  do  that.     Say,  Fd  like  to  see  her  agin." 
"Well,  perhaps  you  will.      But  there,  don't  talk  any  more." 
A  short  silence  followed,  but  presently  he  inquired,— 
"Kin  she  come  back  ?" 

'My  mother." 
i  "No,  she  can't  do  that,  but  maybe  you  will  be  able  to  go  to  her." 

"  When  ?  " 

"Pretty  soon." 

He  dozed  again,  and  the  hands  of  the  great  clock  dragged  them- 
jves  wearily  on.  In  his  sleep  he  was  again  with  his  mates.  Now 
1 1 was  calling,  "Shine  !  "  now  he  was  counting  his  money,  laugh- 
ijwith  his  comrades,  and  eagerly  plying  his  trade.  The  hands 
the  clock  had  barely  passed  the  hour  of  two  when  he  again  awoke. 

"Missus." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Won't  yer  kiss  me  agin  ?  It  seems  as  though  my  mother  was 
jse  to  me  when  you  do  that." 

She  kissed  him,  and  he  dropped  off  to  sleep,  but  not  for  long. 
le  minute-hand  had  not  reached  the  half  hour  when  he  woke 
th  a  cry  and  start. 

"Say,  what  makes  me  feel  so  queer  ?*  I  feel,"  and  the  words 
me  with  more  difficulty,  "  as— though— somethin'— heavy— was 

tin' — on — me." 

The  lights  were  turned  up,  and  willing  hands  raised  the  little 
rm  from  the  pillow.     Brighter  grew  the  eyes,  as  they  seemed  to 
fze  at  something  toward  which  the  little  yearning  arms  were  out- 
etched.    Fainter  and  fainter  came  the  breath,  feebler  and  feebler 
ew  the  voice. 

"  You — was — right, — missus." 

They  raised  him  higher,  and  he  whispered, — 

<<  You — was — right.     I  kin — I  kin  go." 

"Where,  dear?" 

«  You — said — I  could,  — and — I  kin — go — to " 

The  little  outstretched  arms  fell,  and  that  last  loving  word  was 
token  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  river. 


70  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE   PALMER'S  VISION 


JOSIAH    GILBERT    HOLLAND. 


"VTOON  o'er  Judea  !     All  the  air  was  beating 
-"*"*      With  the  hot  pulses  of  the  day's  great  heart*, 
The  birds  were  silent,  and  the  rill,  retreating, 
Shrank  in  its  covert,  and  complained  apart. 

When  a  lone  pilgrim  with  his   scrip  and  burden, 
Dropped  by  the  wayside  weary  and  distressed ; 

His  sinking  heart  grown  faithless  of  its  guerdon — 
The  city  of  its  recompense  and  rest. 

No  vision  yet  of  Galilee  and  Tabor  ! 

No  glimpse  of  distant  Zion  thronged  and  crowned  ! 
Behind  him  lay  his  long  and  useless  labor. 

Before  him  stretched  the  parched  and  stony  ground 

He  leaned  against  a  shrine  of  Mary,  casting 
Its  balm  of  shaMow  on  his  aching  head, 

And,  worn  with  toil  and  faint  with  cruel  fasting, 
He  sighed,  "  0  God  !    0  God,  that  I  were  dead  ! 

"  The  friends  I  loved  are  lost  or  left  behind  me  ; 
In  penury  and  loneliness  I  roam  ; 
These  endless  paths  of  penance  choke  and  blind  me  ; 
0   come  and  take  the  wasted  pilgrim  home  ! " 

Then  with  the  form  of   Mary  bending  o'er  him, 
Her  hands  in  changeless  benediction   stayed, 

The  palmer  slept ;  while  a  swift  dream  upbore  him 
To  the  fair  paradise  for  which  he  prayed. 

He  stood  alone,  wrapped  in  divinest  wonder ; 
He  saw  the  pearly  gates  and  jasper  walls 


AND  RECITATIONS.  71 

Informed  with  light,  and  heard  the  far-off  thunder 
Of  chariot-wheels  and  mighty  waterfalls. 

From  far  and  near,  in  rhythmic  palpitations, 

Rose  on  the  air  the  noise  of  shouts  and  psalms ; 

And  through  the  gates  he  saw  the  ransomed  nations 
Marching,  and  waving  their  triumphant  palms. 

"  0  Jesus  !  Lord  of  glory  !   Bid  me  enter  : 

I  worship  thee  !  I  kiss  thy  holy  rood  ! " 
The  pilgrim  cried  ;  when,  from  the  burning  centre, 

A  broad-winged  angel  sought  him  where  he  stood. 

"Why  art  thou  here?"  in  accents  deep  and  tender 
Outspoke  the  messenger.     "Dost  thou  not  know 

That  none  may  win  the  city's  rest  and  splendor, 
Who  do  not  cut  their  palms  in  Jericho  ? 

"  Go  back  to  earth,  thou  palmer  empty-handed ! 

Go  back  to  hunger  and  the  toilsome  way ! 
Complete  the  task  that  duty  hath  commanded, 

And  win  the  palm  thou  hast  not  brought  to-day." 

And  then  the  sleeper  woke  and  gazed  around  him  ; 

Then,  springing  to  his  feet  with  life  renewed, 
He  spurned  the  faithless  weakness  that  had  bound  him, 

And,  faring  on,  his  pilgrimage  pursued. 

The  way  was  long,  and  he  grew  halt  and  weary, 
But  one  long  day  among  the  evening  hours 

He  saw,  beyond  a  landscape  gray  and  dreary, 
The  sunset  flame  on  Salem's  sacred  towers. 

0  fainting  soul  that  readest  well  my  story, 

Longing  through  pain  for  death's  benignant  calm, 

Think  not  to  win  a  heaven  of  rest  and  glory, 
If  thou  shalt  reach  its  gates  without  thy  palm. 


72  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  THREE  MISSIONS. 


MORNING   STAR,    EVENING   STAR,  AND    MOONLIGHT. 


MES.    LOULA    KENDALL   ROGEES. 


[This  recitation  is  personated  by  three  young  girls  in  appropriate  costume. 
The  Morning  Star  is  arrayed  in  pink  fleecy  gauze,  with  a  large,  bright  silver 
star  on  a  black  velvet  girdle,  and  smaller  stars  on  front  width  of  dress.  The 
Evening  Star  is  robed  in  sky-blue,  with  velvet  girdle  also  containing  a  bright 
star.  Moonlight  is  robed  in  deep  black,  spangled  all  over  with  stars,  while 
on  the  girdle  is  a  full  round  moon,  made  of  silver  paper.  She  enters  last  and 
takes  her  place  between  the  two  Stars,  all  standing  under  a  wooden  arch  on 
which  is  inscribed  in  glittering  letters  "Gloria  in  Excelsis."] 


I 


[MoeKing  Stae  enters  from  the  Hast.'] 
AM  the  radiant  Morning  Star  ! 
'Tis  mine  to  illumine  the  crimson  bar 
That  separates  night  from  beautiful  day, 
And  awaken  earth  with  my  sparkling  ray. 

I  give  to  each  mountain,  hill,   and  plain, 
A  crest  of  varying  crimson  hue  ; 

I  sweep  away  darkness  in  my  train, 
And  bring  to  light  the  sparkling  dew. 

Oh,  the  East  is  blest  when  my  silvery  crest1 

Is  set  in  its  purple  shade, 
And  all  earth  should  rise  in  glad  surprise 

When  my  early  call  is  made. 
The  student  hails  my  dawning  light 

And,  as  my  glories  shine, 
He  hies  him  o'er  the  mountain  height 

To  Learning's  gilded  shrine. 

To  the  suffering,  and  the  meek  and  bowed, 

I  bring  a  cheering  ray; 
And  all  my  sister  spirits  fair 

Bless  me  at  dawn  of  day. 
Yet,  best  of  all,  my  light  gleamed  o'er 

The   King  at  Bethlehem, 


AND  RECITA  TIONS.  73 

And  joined  the  glad  triumphant  shout 
"Peace!     Peace!     Good- will  to  men!" 

[Evening  Star,  enters  from  the  West,  leaving  space  in  centre 
for  Moonlight.] 

I  am  the  pensive  Evening  Star  ! 

O'er  earth  I  wield  a  magic  power 
The  convents  chant  to  me  a  lay 

At  twilight's  welcome  vesper  hour. 
I  give  to  each  mountain,  hill,  and  vale 

A  chastened  hue,   when  lingering  still 
In  sunset's  radiant  golden   gleam, 

And  every  heart  with  peace  I  fill. 

Oh,  the  "West  is  blest  when  my  diamond  crest 

On  her  sapphire  brow   is  laid, 
And  the  nightingale  from  hill  and  dale, 

Trills  forth  her  soft  roulade. 
The  laborer  hails  my  gentle  ray 

And  follows  me  afar ; 
His  daily  toil  is  all  forgot 

When  shines  the  Evening  Star. 

To  the  weary  over  all  the  earth 

I  softly  whisper  "Rest!" 
And  give  them  one  sweet,  hopeful  dream 

Of  the  land  forever  blest. 
But,  best  of  all,  I  list  to  the  prayer 

Breathed  at  a  mother's  knee, 
And  bear  it  swift  through  the  ether  blue 

To  Him  who  died  for  thee. 

[Moonlight  enters  from  centre  of  stage,    hearing    a  gilded 
sceptre.  ] 

My  placid  light,  0  Star  of  Eve, 
Eclipses  thine  !     'Tis  mine  to  weave 
A  silvery  spell  o'er  Nature's  brow, 
And  accept  your  homage  rendered  now, 


74  WERNER 'S  READINGS 

I  wear  a  royal  diadem.      Ye  only  gleam 
In  light  subdued,  and  paler  seem 
In  contrast  with  my  imperial  sway 
That  rivals  even  golden  Day. 

In  cloudless  majesty  alone 

I  sit  upon  my  ebon   throne 

All  veiled  in  darkness.     Yet  the  world, 

When  my  silvery  pinions  are  unfurled, 

Shall  worship  in  the  silent  night 

The  Prince  of  Peace,  the  Source  of   Light. 

[Morning  Star  crowns  her  and  kneeling,  says:] 
We  crown  thee,   sister,   Queen  of  Night ! 

Most  royally  thy  sceptre  sway  ! 
Our  radiance  fades  beneath  the  light 

That  sparkles  o'er  thy  beauteous  way. 

[Evening  Star  kneeling:] 

All  that  the  poet  e'er  has  dreamed 

Of  purity,   of  faith,  and  love, 
Are  realized,   fair  Queen,  in  thee  : 

Thou  breathest  of  the  peace  above ! 

[Moonlight,   extending  her  hands :] 

Eise,  sisters,  rise.     Kneel  not  to  me ; 
I  rule  not  earth,    nor  sky,   nor  sea  ; 
My  glory  comes  from  God  the  King — 
Then  let  us  all  His  praises  sing. 

[The  three  clasp  hands  and  recite  in  concert:] 
And  now  in  unison  we  shine 
To  worship  all  that  is  divine  ; 
All  honor,   glory,  praise  to  Thee 
Whose  hand  hath  made  the  Mystic  Three. 

[While   light  is  thrown   on   tableau   at   flie   close,  each  points 
upward  and  sings  the  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis."] 


AND  RECITATION'S. 


75 


(Sol-Fa. )    Intonation. 


CTiorus.  


Glo 


ri  -  a      in     ex  -  eel  -  sis     De 


1 f— 


Et     in      ter    -    ra    pax 


vo-lun-ta-  tis.    Lau  -  da-^  -   mus-te. 
ci  -  mus  -  te,      Ad  -  o  -  ra   -    mus-te.     Glo  -  ri   -    fl  -  ca- 


mus-teT"~^..       Gra    -    ti  -  as         a    -     gimus    ti     -     -     -    bi  propter  ma  gnam 


g^=T=  =q=3= 


=1  =|__j 


1- 


=s>=fc 


glo    -    ri-am    tu    -    am.     Do 


^^^fc^tf^^^3 


-3=H-,s — --=1— J?5s>-£>-F&^^-<s?— ^^zaie: 


:-C 


EEEEfczfdEfcr.!: 


De  -  us    Pa  -   ter     o  -  ami  -  potens.  Do  -  mi-ne    Fi    -    li     u    -    ni  -  ge 


ni-te, 


s— j^^--=g=j^^ 


Je    -    su 


Ch:i  -    ste. 


—Ezra      I  rr 
Do  -  mi  -  ne     De    -     us, 


bit: 


gnus    De    -     i, 


zt 


rzrzgEBzztrrz- — i — =fc±=t= 


:fErrzfc^z^rz=zrgZz^F<s>— zafrfczzzfcn: 


, — I 

Fi  -  li  -  us  Pa    -    tris.     Qui  to/  -  lis    pec  -  ca    -    ta  mun-di,   mi  -  se  re 


==t 


r^zz^r 


— i 5-fl-^— =— &>— g— ez-'s'-S=^=^=F2=-=r: 


_z^zzrzE 


re       no   -    bis.    Qui  tol  -  lis  pec  -  ca    -    ta  mun-di,     sus  -   ci-pe    de-pre-ca-  ti- 


*a^=S==3=3a= 


3=zq: 


izrizzrrtzzrzrzdrrrjrrz 


t!=SC=3 


-  o  -  nem        nos  -  tram.     Qui     se    -    -    -    des    ad     de 


xteram     Pa 


tris, 


srzzzzg: 


t====r=f=i  =^=5313 


mi    -     se  -  re    - 

~ I 1 


IzrS=^Sfer=z: 

re     no    -   bis.     Quo    -    ni-am     tu     so 


:^^F==e=?^F=g=e= 


lus    sanctus. 


^^^^^^^^^S^^SS^ 


t= 


h=i — r 


E==i= 


Tu    so    -    lus    Do    -    minus.     Tu    so    -    lus.    Al  -    tis  -  simus,   Je    -    -    su 

ri  -  tu         in       gio    -    rl- 


ste     Cum     san    -    -    cto     Spi 


Chri 


— t— i— 


De     -      i         Pa-^-    tris. 


— (gr-^J— ■6^- 


-     ==sr^zsrrgzrft 


76  WERNER'S  READINGS 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  MISSIONS. 


LEE    C.    HAEBY. 


TTEBE  the  San  Antonio  river 
-* — *-     Swiftly  courses  on  forever ; 
Here  the  mocking-bird's  sweet  singing 
Sets  the  mesquite  copses  ringing ;     v 
Here  December's  sunshine  golden 
Falls  upon  the  mission  olden, 
Penetrating  dim  recesses, 
Lighting  with  its  warm  caresses 
Alta  r   where   no  priest  is  praying ; 
But  the  lizard  brown  is  straying 
In  and  out  of  crack  and  jointing, 
While  the  cross,    whose  first  anointing 
Was  in  tears  and  bitter  sorrow, 
From  the  sunbeams  seems   to  borrow 
Something  more  than  earthly  glory. 

Who  can  tell  the  thrilling  story 
Of  the  mission's  slow  uprearing  ? 
Of  privation,  toil  and  fearing 
Borne  by  these  Franciscan  friars — 
Abnegation  of  desires, 
Sacrifice  of  every  pleasure, 
Spending  all  of  life's  best  treasure, 
For  the  glory  of  their  calling  ? 
Now  the  dust  of  time  is  falling 
O'er  their  graves  unknown  and  lowly. 
In  the  mission's  confines  holy 
All  the  year  in  silence  sleeping ; 
But  when  night  is  slowly  creeping 
To  the  birth  of  Christmas  morning, 
As  the  stroke  of  twelve  gives  warning, 


AND   RECITATIONS.  77 

They,  from  every  tomb  appearing, 
Still  their  priestly  vestments  wearing, 
Bound  the  altar  reverent  gather. 
Then  it  is  some  ghostly  father 
Gliding  to  the  ruined  tower 
At  this  solemn   midnight  hour, 
Sets  the  rusty  bell  a-swinging 
And  the  music  of  its  ringing 
Sounds  into  the  ears  of  dead  men, 
Calling  from  their  graves  the  red  men. 
Thence  they  come  in  noiseless  trooping, 
In  the  chancel  thickly  grouping, 
Indian  warrior,  wife  and  maiden. 
Soon  the  air  is  heavy  laden 
With  the  smoke  from  censers  swinging, 
While  the  priests  are  slowly  bringing 
Forth  the  symbol  of  their  Master. 
Peals  the  bell  now  louder,  faster, 
From  the  ancient  mission's  tower ; 
Many  voices  rise  and  lower 
In  an  anthem  grandly  swelling 
Faith  of  priest  and  convert  telling; 
Held  on  high  the  Host  is  glowing, 
All  its  golden  glory  showing 
By  the  lights  which  gleam  and  falter 
On  the  quaint  and  carven  altar, 
While  the  clouds  of  incense  quiver 
Stirred  by  breezes  from  the  river. 
Once  again  the  bell's  slow  pealing 
Sounds  above  the  people  kneeling 
Penitent,  their  sins  confessing, 
Bowed  beneath  the  Father's  blessing ! 

Fades  the  brilliance  from  the  mission, 
And  a  subtle,  strange  transition 
Passes  o'er  the  people  praying — 


78  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"lis  a  change  like  to  the  swaying 
Of  the  mist  clouds  o'er  the  ocean ; 
For,  with  neither  sound  nor  motion, 
Every  form  fades  into  spirit, 
Back  to  all  they  may  inherit, 
Silent  grave  and  restful  sleeping  ! 
And  the  gray  dawn  comes  a-creeping, 
While  the  ghostly  bell  is  sighing; 
Wierdly  wail  its  last  notes,  dying — 
Not  an  echo  even  waking — 
For  the  Christmas  morn  is  breaking! 


WILLIAM  TELL  AND  HIS  SON. 


MAKTHA   J.    NOTT. 


a    A   ND  have  these  rebels  dared  complain,  and  murmur  to  th 

■J-*-    king  ? 
Swift  retribution  on  their  heads  their  foolish  deed  shall  bring. 
Perchance  they  thought  by  some  strange  fate  their  freedom  th 

to  gain, 
Freedom,  which  ever  must  be  bought  with  woes  and  bitter  pain. 
Subjection  they  shall  doubly  feel,  and,  to  their  bitter  cost, 
Learn  how  completely  liberty  for  aye  to  them  is  lost. 
Place  high  my  hat  upon  a  pole,  and  to  each  rebel  say  : 
'  These  are  your  governor's  orders  which  you  hear,  and  must  ob( 
Whene'er  you  pass  before  this  cap,  see  that  your  head  you  bare,  j 
For 'tis  his  representative  which  he  has  mounted  there/''' 

So  spake  the  Tyrant  Gesler,  and,  obedient  to  his  word, 
His  servants  sallied  forth  to  do  the  bidding  of  their  lord. 
The  imperious  mandate  then  is  given,  and,  high  upon  the  breez 
Their  hated  despot's  emblem  soon  each  gallant  Switzer  sees. 
Each  heart  with  indignation  swells,  but  ah  !  too  well  they  kno1 


AND  RECITATIONS.  79 

That  to  defy  their  tyrant  now  will  only  work  them  woe. 

But  one  brave  Switzer  stands  apart,  with  bold  and  haughty  mien, 

Determination  flashing  from  his  eyes  and  features  seen. 

"  Comrades/'  he  cries,  "  too  long  this  king,  with  hard  and  cruel 

hand, 
Has  stretched  oppression  far  and  wide  o'er  all  our  native  land. 
If  still  my  country  is  not  free,  I  will  be  free  indeed, 
Nor  of  this  symbol,  when  I  pass,  will  take  the  slightest  heed  ; 
I  will  not  bow  to  any  one,  much  less  to  this  vain  man  ; 
Now  let  him  do  to  William  Tell  the  worst  that  e'en  he  can." 

At  length  the  news  to  Gesler  came  that  one  brave  Swiss  had  dared 

To  treat  his  orders  with  contempt,  and  also  had  declared 

He  feared  not  aught  the  king  could  do  ;  and,  full  of  angry  wrath, 

He  orders  this  presumptuous  Swiss  to  be  to  him  brought  forth. 

"And  is  this  true  I  hear,  rash  Swiss?  and  hast  thou  dared,  indeed, 

To  brave  my  anger,  and  to  take  of  my  commands  no  heed  ? 

Dost  thou  not  know  I  am  thy  king  ?  and  wherefore  hast  thou 

striven 
Eebelliously  against  the  word  that  I,  thy  lord,  have  given  ?" 
"Yea,  it  is  true  I  have  refused  thy  bidding  e'er  to  do, 
For  I  would  scorn  to  speak  to  thee  words  aught  than  those  are 

true  ; 
And,  tyrant !  do  the  worst  thou  canst,  but  ne'er  shall  it  be  said 
That  William  Tell  to  Gesler's  hat  did  ever  bare  his  head." 

"And  darest  thou  speak  thus  to  me  ?"  in  anger  Gesler  cries ; 
"Thy  haughty  words  are  bolder  far  than  e'er  thy  conduct's  wise. 
Dost  thou,  indeed,  fear  naught  that  I  can  ever  do  to  thee  ? 
I'll  prove  the  worth  of  thy  vain  boast,  I'll  see  how  true  it  be. 
Ho,  vassals  !  bring  this  rebel's  son  before  me  with  all  speed  ; 
I'll  test  his  courage  and  his  skill  by  a  most  worthy  deed." 
Calm  and  serene,  to  outward  view,  the  patriot  appears, 
But,    ah  !    what   anguish   fills   his   heart,    what   awful,   nameless 

fears, 
For,  looking  on  the  tyrant's  face,  and  then  upon  his  son, 
He  dreads  the  child  will  suffer  now  for  deeds  the  father's  done  ! 


80  WERNER'S  READINGS 

But  soon  the  silence  Gesler  breaks.     In  tones  of  scornful  pride, 
"Proud  Swiss!"  he  cries,  "Til  prove  thee  now.     O'er  all  the 

country  wide 
They  say  unrivalled  is  thy  skill  as  archer,  far  and  near  ; 
Now  shalt  thou  show  thy  far-famed  power  to  us  assembled  here. 
Upon  the  head  of  this  thy  son  an  apple  I  will  place, 
And  if  thou  cleav'st  it  right  in  two,  I  will  accord  thee  grace  ; 
But  failing  this  to  do,  thy  life  the  penalty  shalt  be. 
Now  of  thy  famed  dexterity  an  instance  let  us  see." 
With  quivering  hand  Tell  grasps  his  bow,  but  all  in  vain  essays 
To  take  his  aim,  for  powerless  he  seems  his  arms  to  raise. 
The  child,  who  with  love's  instinct  quick  divines  his  father's  grief, 
"With  faith  implicit  in  his  skill,  seeks  to  bring  him  relief. 
"  Shoot  quickly,  father  dear,"  he  cries,  "  I  know  you  never  miss 
Your  aim  ;  so  wherefore  hesitate,  and  fear  to  strike  at  this  ?  " 

Encouraged  by  his  simple  faith,  his  bow  at  length  Tell  draws  ; 
One  brief  and  fervent  prayer  for  help,  one  silent,  breathless  pause, 
Then  through  the  air  the  arrow  flies  ;  the  apple,  cleft  in  two, 
Falls  to  the  ground,  while  all  unhurt  the  child  stands  in  their 

view. 
Amazed,  the  tyrant  then  exclaims,  "  I  see  that  it  is  true,    . 
Of  skilful  archers  like  to  thee  there  surely  can  be  few. 
But  wherefore  hast  thou  yet  another  arrow  in  thy  belt  ? 
Thy  son  would  not  have  needed  two  had  he  the  first  one  felt." 
With  haughty  mien  and  flashing  eye  then  speaks  the  gallant  Swiss: 
"  'Tis  well  for  thee,  0  tyrant  !  that  I  have  not  needed  this. 
Think  not  that  if  with  my  own  hand  I  had  laid  low  my  son, 
That  thou,  the  cause  of  all  my  woe,  wouldst  still  unhurt  have 

gone  ! 
No  ;  by  my  faith,  if  I  had  killed  my  child,  this  arrow  then 
Had  pierced  thy  heart,  and  slain  one  of  the  cruellest  of  men." 


AND  RECITATIONS.  81 


BECALMED  AT  SEA. 


SAMUEL   K.    COWAN. 


TT  was  as  calm  as  calm  could  be, 
-*-     A  death  still  night  in  June ; 
A  silver  sail  on  a  silver  sea 
Under  a  silver  moon. 

Not  the  least  air  the  still  sea  stirred, 

But  all  on  the  dreaming  deep 
The  white  ship  lay,  like  a  white  sea-bird, 

With  folded  wings,  asleep. 

For  a  long,   long  month  not  a  breath   of  air 
For  a  month  not  a  drop  of  rain  ; 

And  the  gaunt  crew  watched  in  wild  despair, 
With  a  fever  in  throat  and  brain. 

And  they  saw  the  shore  like  a  dim  cloud  stand 

On  the  far  horizon  sea  ; 
It  was  only  a  day's  short  sail  to  the  land 

And  the  haven  where  they  would  be. 

Too  faint  to  row — no  signal   brought 
An  answer  from  far  or  nigh  : 
"  Father  have  mercy  ;   leave  us  not 
Alone  on  the  deep  to  die  ! " 

And  the  gaunt  crew  prayed  on  the  deck  above, 
And  the  women  prayed  below  : 
"  One  drop  of  rain  for  God's  great  love  ! 
0  God  !   for  a  breeze  to  blow  ! " 

But  never  a  shower  from  the  skies  would  burst, 
And  never  a  breeze  would  come  ; 


83  WERNER'S  READINGS 

0  heaven  !   to  think  that  man  can  thirst 
And  starve  in  sight  of  home. 

But  out  to  sea  with  the  drifting  tide, 

The  vessel  drifted  away  ; 
Till  the  far-off  shore  like  a  dim  cloud,   died, 

And  the  wild  crew  ceased  to  pray. 

Like  fiends  they  glared,  with  their  eyes  aglow. 

Like  beasts  with  hunger  wild  • 
But  a  mother  knelt  in  the  cabin  below, 

By  the  bed  of  her  little  child. 

It  slept,  and  lo  !  in  its  sleep  it  smiled, 
A  babe  of  summers  three. 
' '  Oh,  Father  !  save  my  little  child, 
Whatever  comes  to  me  ! " 

Calm  gleamed  the  sea,  calm  gleamed  the  sky, 

No  cloud,  no  sail  in  view ; 
And  they  cast  them  lots  for  who  should  die 

To  feed  the  starving  crew. 

Like  beasts  they  glared  with  hunger  wild, 
And  their  red,  glazed  eyes  aglow  ; 

And  the  death  lot  fell  on  the  little  child 
That  slept  in  the  cabin  below. 

And  the  mother  shrieked  in  wild  despair : 

"  0  God  !  my  child,  my  son  ! 
They  will  take  his  life  !     It  is  hard  to  bear, 

Yet,  Father,  Thy  will  be  done  ! " 

And  she  waked  her  child  from  its  happy  sleep, 
And  she  kneeled  by  the  cradle  bed  : 
"  We  thirst,  my  child,  on  the  lonely  deep ; 
We  are  dying,  my  child,  for  bread. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  83 

"  On  the  lone,  lone  sea,  no  sail,  no  breeze, 
Not  a  drop  of  rain  in  the  sky. 
"We  thirst — we  starve — on  the  lonely  seas, 
And  thou,  my  child,  must  die  ! " 

"Father,"  he  lisped,   "so  good,  so  kind, 
Have  pity  on  mother's  pain  ; 
For  mother's  sake,  a  little  wind, 
Father,  a  little  rain  ! " 

And  she  heard  them  shout  for  the  child  from  the  deck, 
And  she  knelt  on  the  cabin  stairs  : 
"The  child!  the  child!"  they  cry.     "Stand  back! 
And  away  with  your  senseless  prayers." 

Aha  !   It  was  a  ghastly  sight  ! 

Red  eyes  like  flaming  brands, 
And  a  hundred  belt-knives  flashing  bright 

In  the  clutch  of  skeleton  hands. 

" Strike  me,  strike  me,  ye  fiends  of  death!" 
But  soft  through  the  ghastly  air 
Whose  falling  tear  was  that  ?     Whose  breath 
Waves  through  the  mother's  hair  ?  " 

A  flutter  of  sail — a  ripple  of  seas — 

A  speck  on  the  cabin  pane ; 
0  joy  !  a  breeze  it  is,  a  breeze, 

And  a  drop  of  blessed  rain  ! 

And  the  mother  rushed  to  the  cabin  below, 
And  she  wept  on  the  babe's  bright  hair : 
"  The  sweet  rain  falls  !  The  sweet  winds  blow ! 
Our  Father  has  heard  thy   prayer ! " 

But  the  child  had  fallen  asleep  again ; 
And  lo  !  in  its  sleep  it  smiled  : 
"Thank  God  !"  she  cried,  "for  His  wind  and  His  rain — 
Thank  God  for  my  little  child  !" 


84  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY  OF  KENT. 


A    STOEY   FROM   THE   TRENCH   WARS. 


HTpOTJB  hundred  years  and  more  ago, 
-*-       It  matters  not  to  you, 
A  slender  boy  with  golden  hair 
And  eyes  of  melting  blue, 

While  whistling  down  an  English  lane, 

A  sunny  lane  of  Kent, 
Heard  word  of  war  and  beat  of  drum, 

And  with  the  drummers  went ; 

And  with  the  drummers  drummed  the  way 

That  led  the  last  advance 
The  boy-king  Henry's  soldiers  made 

Upon  the  heart  of  France. 

He,  dreaming,  wandered  far  from  camp, 
Where  songs  of  birds  were  blent 

With  notes  as  sweet  he  whistled  out — 
That  Drummer-Boy  of  Kent. 

A-sudden,  through  his  home-dream,  rang 

A  sentry's  challenge  cry 
To  halt,  to  yield  him  captive  up 

To  Charles  of  France,  or  die. 

And  thence  they  led  him  back  to  camp, 

To  their  great  captain's  tent; 
Yet  bravely  beat  the  heart  in  him 

As  with  the  foe  he  went; 

As  in  the  captain's  tent  he  stood, 
Where  shone,  'bove  gleam  of  lance, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  85 

A  great  white  banner  on  which  bloomed 
The  fleur-de-lis  of  France. 

And  there  beneath  the  battle  flag 

The  gallant  captain  stood, 
And  questioned  him  ;  and  he  replied 

As  brave  young  Briton  should: 

"  A  drummer-boy — an  English  boy, 
Of  Kent,  I  am/'  he  said. 
The  man  was  moved  by  his  true  tone, 
The  proud  toss  of  his  head. 

Yet,  doubting,  bid  a  drum  be  brought, 
And  bid  the  boy  to  beat : 
"A  martial  march — a  march,"  he  said, 
"To  stir  the  soldiers' feet." 

Then  drummed  the  Drummer-Boy  of  Kent, 
Till  "  Stop  \"  the  captain  said  ; 
"A  march  drummed  out  like  that  should  stir 
The  feet  of  soldiers  dead." 

But  pride  of  France  burned  in  his  heart ; 

"Forsooth,"  he  cried,  e"i  were  meet 
No  English  aoy  should  beat  advance — 

So,  boy,  now  beat  retreat ! " 

Then  from  those  eyes  of  melting  bine 

Flashed  out  a  sapphire  light ; 
The  drumsticks  and  the  drum  he  dropped, 

Drew  up  his  slender  height. 

"Retreat,  retreat !  Oh,  sir,"  he  cried, 
"  My  drum  knows  no  retreat  1 
And  I  woulu  die  ere  i  would  lead 
The  way  for  backward  feet ! " 

Alone,  unarmed,  he  stood — yet  armed 
And  winged  as  heroes  are ; 


86  WERNER'S  READINGS 

While  all  the  valiant  men-at-arms 
Broke  out  in  loud  huzza. 

And  won,  as  never  won  by  arms, 
The  great  French  captain  cried  : 
"No  braver  heart  in  soldier  beats 
On  French  or  English  side." 

And  to  his  soldiers  gave  command, 
"Set  that  young  eagle  free! 

(And  would  were  his  the  flag  where  blooms 
The  heavenly  fleur-de-lis  !)" 

So,  led  by  cheering  men  at  arms, 

He  left  the  captain's  tent, 
And  crossed  the  lines,  and  went  his  way — 

Brave  Drummer-Boy  of  Kent. 


THE   WAY. 


WILLIAM    STEELE   SHURTLEFF. 


THIRST,  find  out  Truth,  and  then 
-*-       Although  she  strays 
From  beaten  paths  of  men, 

To  untrod  ways, 
Her  leading  follow  straight, 
And  bide  thy  fate  ! 

And  whether  smiles  or  scorn 

Thy  passing  greet, 
Or  find'st  thou  flower  or  thorn 

Beneath  thy  feet 
Fare  on  !  nor  fear  thy  fate 
At  Heaven's  gate. 


AND   RECITATIONS.  87 


TELEMACHUS. 


G.  M.  SHELDOX. 


[The  year  404  A.  D.  is  famous  as  the  accredited  epoch  of  the  abolition  of 
3  gladiatorial  shows  at  Rome.  Honorius,  Hie  Emperor,  held  u  jubilee  in  the 
y  to  celebrate  the  defeat  of  Alaric.  During  the  gladiatorial  contest,  which 
med  a  part  of  the  jubilee,  a  monk  named  Telemachus  rushed  into  the  arena 
d,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  threw  himself  between  the  combatants.  He  was 
t  to  pieces  on  the  instant;  but  the  people  were  smitten  with  compunction. 
le  games  were  immediately  suspended,  and  a  stringent  decree  issued  pro- 
biting  their  revival.] 

rpELEMAOHTJS,  the  monk,  sat  in  his  cell, 
-*-     Fixed  in  deep  thought  he  sat  in  silence  there; 
But  as  the  shades  of  night  around  him  fell, 
He  knelt  upon  the  ground  in  humble  prayer. 

"  Give  me  a  heart,  0  Lord,  to  do  Thy  will, 
A  heart  submissive  to  Thy  chastening  rod; 
Into  my  life  Thy  loving  grace  instil — 
Help  me  to  feel  that  Thou  alone  art  God. 

"  Hasten  the  time  when  all  shall  own  Thy  sway; 
The  groaning  captive  from  his  chains  release. 
Hasten  the  time  when  wars  shall  pass  away, 
And  all  the  earth  enjoy  perpetual  peace." 

Thus,  in  his  cell,  the  monk,  in  earnest  prayer, 
Passed  the  long  night  communing  with  his  Lord; 

"While  o'er  the  silent  city  slumbering  there 
The  Roman  sentinel  kept  watch  and  ward. 

Day  breaks  upon  the  city's  cold  gray  wall, 

Brightening  each  temple,  pinnacle,  and  shrine; 

On  the  statues  there  the  sunbeams  fall, 

Touching  the  marble  gods  with  light  divine. 


88  WERNER'S  READINGS 

This  day  the  emperor  his  triumph  keeps, 
Presiding  at  the  games  in  regal  state; 

Bound  the  echoing  walls  the  welcome  sweeps: 
"  Long  live  Honorius,  the  wise  and  great  ! " 

Then  forth  with  stately  tread,  a  warlike  band 

Of  gladiators  fill  the  open  space; 
In  quiet  sternness  on  the  sand 

In  two  opposing  ranks  they  take  their  place, 

And,  at  a  given  signal,  on  they  sweep, 

Eushing  like  angry  beasts  upon  their  prey; 

Their  swords  are  stained  from  gashes  wide  and  deep, 
The  sand  is  torn  and  bloody  with  the  fray. 

When  suddenly  there  leaps  upon  the  sand, 
Between  the  combatants,  a  figure  tall; 

His  face  so  pale,  so  winning,  yet  so  grand, 
That  awe  and  silence  on  the  people  fall. 

"  What  men  are  ye  who  spurn  the  law  of  God 
Which  bids  us  live  as  brothers  all  in  love? 
Who  find  delight  in  violence  and  blood, 
Forbidden  by  the  Christ  in  heaven  above? 

"  In  Christ's  own  name,  I  bid  this  carnage  cease  ! 

In  Christ's  own  name,  the  name  we  breathe  in  praye 
Yea,  I,  Telemachus,  the  monk  of  peace, 
Command  ye  all  as  brothers  to  forbear  ! " 

But  on  the  fickle,  maddened  Roman  crowd 
The  monk's  words  held  but  momentary  sway, 

And  then  the  cry  grew  fiercer  and  more  loud: 

"  Down  with  the  monk  !     Away  with  him  !    Away 

The  cruel  gladiators  with  their  swords 

To  pierce  the  heart  of  that  brave  preacher  flew; 

And  as  he  fell  in  death,  he  gasped  the  words  : 

''Forgive,  dear  Lord,  they  know  not  what  they  do  !! 


AND  RECITATIONS,  89 

So  died  Telemachus,  the  monk  of  old; 

But  with  him  died  the  gladiatorial  shows, 
All  honor  to  that  spirit,  grand  and  bold, 

Whose  martyred  soul  then  found  in  God  repose. 


THE   VESPER   BELL. 


EUGENE    DAVIS. 


QIWEET  the  chime  of  vesper  bell, 
^     Borne  on  the  balmy  breeze, 
From  the  convent  in  the  dell. 

Heaven  breathes  in  ev'ry  swell 
Softly  o'er  the  smiling  leas — 
Sweet  the  chime  of  vesper  bell. 

Glows  my  heart  beneath  the  spell 
Of  these  saintly  melodies 
From  the  convent  in  the  dell. 

Now  each  dark  thought  tolls  its  knell 

In  repentant   agonies — 

Sweet  the  chime  of  vesper  bell. 

And  a  joy  no  voice  can  tell 
Eipples  through  the  list'ning  trees 
From  the  convent  in  the  dell. 

Wreathing  from  a  heavenly  shell 
Soulful,  dreamful  symphonies, 
Sweet  the  chime   of  vesper  bell 
From  the  convent  in  the  dell. 


90  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  LADY  HILDEGARDE. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


/^\H,  happy  is  he  that  giveth 
^-^     Of  his  gifts  unto  the  poor  ; 
For  the  smile  of  the  blessed  Christ  is  his, 
And  his  reward  is  sure. 

'Twas  at  the  bleak  of  winter, 

And  a  drought  lay  on  the  land  ; 
And  bread  was  scarce,  and  cries  of  want 

Were  heard  on  every  hand — 
When  a  beggar  roamed  through  the  village, 

Meanly  but  cleanly  clad  ; 
Her  back  was  bent  'neath  the  burden  of  age, 

And  her  face  was  pale  and  sad. 

"  Give  me  of  your  bread,  kind  stranger, 

Give  me  of  your  bread,"  cried  she  ; 
"That  I'm  hungry  and  cold,  and  ragged,  and  old* 
You  all  must  plainly  see." 
With  many  a  look  of  anger, 

They  drove  her  from  the  door; 
Or  if  food  they  gave,  'twas  a  mouldy  crust, 
Or  a  bone,  and  nothing  more. 

At  last  at  a  little  cottage, 

One  humbler  than  any  there, 
Where  a  poor  old  man  and  his  feeble  wife 

Dwelt  long  with  want  and  care, 
She  paused — that  wretched  wanderer — 

And  asked  awhile  to  rest 
On  the  steps.     But  the  man  with  a  kindly  smile, 

Urged  in  his  ragged  guest, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  91 

And  gave  her  a  seat  at  the  fireside; 

While  his  good  wife  in  a  trice, 
From  the  fresh  baked  loaf  of  barley  bread, 

Cut  off  an  ample  slice  ; 
And  this  with  a  cup  of  water, 

They  set  before  their  guest. 
'Twas  all  they  had,  they  smiling  said, 

But  the  food  upon  her  pressed. 

"  May  the  good  Lord  ne'er  forgive  us, 

Nor  e'er  bestow  us  more, 
If  ever  the  hungry  we  turn  away 

Unfed  from  our  humble  door  ; 
The  little  we  have  to  offer 

Is  God's,  not  ours — eat,  pray." 
And  the  beggar  ate  of  the  barley  bread, 

And,  thankful,  went  her  way. 


Hildegarde,  the  lady,  who  lived 

At  the  castle  stately  and  grand, 
Invited  the  villagers  to  a  feast 

To  be  given  by  her  hand  ; 
And,  smiling,  they  went  to  the  castle, 

And,  smiling,  they  entered  the  hall, 
Where  a  chair  was  set  for  everyone, 

And  plates  were  laid  for  all. 

Said  Hildegarde,  smiling  sweetly, 

"  Come,  friends,  sit  up  and  eat  ; " 
And  they  gathered  round  that  ample  board, 

With  glad  and  willing  feet ; 
Then  their  eyes  oped  wide  with  wonder, 

For  they  saw — -oh,  sore  dismayed  ! 
a  mouldy  cake,  or  a  mouldier  crust, 

Beside  each  platter  laid. 


92  WERNER'S  READINGS 

With  scraps  of  cold  potatoes 

Which  the  swine  would  scarcely  eat, 
And  tainted  fish,  and  rinds  of  cheese, 

And  broken  bits  of  meat ; 
While  up  in  the  place  of  honor, 

A  table  was  set  for  two, 
•Groaning  beneath  its  weight  of  food, 

And  dainties  both  sweet  and  new. 

Then  spoke  the  noble  Hildegarde, 

And  sternly  thus  she  said  : 
"  I  was  the  beggar  that  roamed  your  streets 

Yestreen  and  asked  for  bread. 
I  did  it  to  test  you,  people, 

So  anxious  was  I  to  know 
How  kind  ye  were  to  the  hungry  and  poor, 

Amid  this  season  of  woe. 

f  And  these  were  what  you  gave  me, 

As  ye  spurned  me  from  your  door  ; 
These  cold  vile  scraps    and  these  mouldy  crusts,, 

But  these  and  nothing  more  ; 
Not  one  in  this  whole  large  village, 

Save  him  with  yon  hoary  head, 
And  his  dear  old  wife,  that  asked  me  in, 

And  gave  me  of  their  bread. 

"  For  them  is  yon  table  waiting, 

With  richest  viands  stored  ; 
Go,  sit  ye  down,  dear  servants  of  Christ, 

And  feast  ye  at  my  board ; 
And  want  shall  be  thine  no  longer, 

For  a  home  I've  given  to  thee, 
Where  every  comfort  of  life  shall  be  thine, 

Till  life  shall  cease  to  be; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  93 

"  And  ye  go  home,  ye  people, 

Each  with  your  mouldy  crust, 
And  bow  your  heads  with  very  shame, 

Ay,  even  to  the  dust. 
And  back  to  my  noble  castle, 

Come  ye  never  again, 
Till  ye  learn  with  what  measure  ye  mete,  it  shall 

Be  measured  to  you  again." 

Oh,  happy  is  he  that  giveth 

Of  his  gifts  unto  the  poor ; 
For  the  smile  of  the  blessed  Christ  is  his, 

And  his  reward  is  sure. 


THE  VIRGIN  WITH  THE  BELLS. 


AUSTIN    DOBSON. 

f  I  THERE  stood  a  church  that  men  would  praise 
-*-     At  Florence,  so  the  legend  tells, 
For  works  of  price  ;  but  chief  for  one 

They  called  the  Virgin  with  the  Bells. 
Gracious  she  was,  and  fealty  done. 

With  crown  of  gold  about  the  hair, 
And  robe  of  blue  with  stars  thereon, 

And  sceptre  in  her  hand  did  bear. 
And  o'er  her,   in  an  almond  tree, 

Three  little  golden  bells  there  were, 
Writ  with  Faith,   Hope  and  Charity. 

None  knew  from  whence  she  came  of  old, 
Nor  whose  the  sculptor's  name  should  be, 

Or  great  or  small.     But  this  they  told  : 
That  once  from  out  the  blaze  of  square, 

And  bickering  folk  that  bought  and  sold, 


94  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Came  to  the  church   an  Urnbrian, 

Lord  of  much  gold  and  champaign  fair, 
But,  for  all  this,  a  hard,  haught  man ; 

To  whom  the  priests,  in   humbleness, 
At  once   to  beg  for  alms  began, 

Praying  him  grant  of  his  excess 
Such  as  for  poor  men's  bread  might  pay, 

Or  give  their  saint  a  gala-dress. 
Thereat  he  sternly  answered  :     "Nay, 

Most  Eev'rend  !  ere  the  least  carline 
Ye  win,  this  summer  sky  shall  snow  ; 

Or,  likelier  still,  your  dolPs-eyed  queen 
Shall  ring  her  bells — but  not  of  craft." 

And  so  across  the  porphyry  floor, 
His  hand  upon  his  dagger-haft, 

Strode,  and  of  these  was  seen  no  more. 

Nor,  of  a  truth,  much  marveled  they 

At  those  his  words,  since  gear  and  store 
Oft  dower  shrunk  souls.     But  on  a  day, 

While  yet  again  throughout  the  square 
The  buyers,  in  their  noisy  way, 

Chaffered  about  the  basketware, 
It  chanced  that  when  the  priest  would  kneel 

Before  the  taper's  flickering  flame —    ■ 
Sudden  a  little  tremulous  peal 

From   out  the  Virgin's  altar  came. 
And  they  that  heard  must  fain  recall 

The  Urnbrian,  and  the  words  of  shame 
Spoke  in  his  pride.     And  therewithal 

Came  news  how,  at  that  very  date 
And  hour  of  time,  was  fixed  his  fall, 

Who,  of  the  duke,  was  banned  the  state, 
And  all  his  goods,  and  lands  as  well, 

To  Holy  Church  were  confiscate. 
Such  is  the  tale  the  Frati  tell. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  95 


SAINT  PATRICK  AND  THE  IMPOSTOR 


AUBKEY   DE   VERB. 


[Mac  Kyle,  a  child  of  death,  dwells  in  a  forest  with  other  men,  that  slay 
whom  they  will.  Saint  Patrick  coming  to  that  wood,  a  certain  impostor  de- 
rises  how  he  may  be  deceived  and  killed  ;  but  God  smites  the  impostor 
•■hrough  his  own  snare,  and  he  dies.  Mac  Kyle  believes  and  is  baptized. 
Afterward  he  preaches  in  Manann  Isle  (Isle  of  Man)  and  becomes  a  saint.] 

TN"  TJladh,*  near  Magh  Inis,  lived  a  chief, 

m     Fierce  man  and  fell.     From  orphaned  childhood  he 

Through  lawless  youth  to  blood-stained  middle  age 

Had  rushed  as  stormy  morn  to  stormier  noon. 

Thus  spake  he  to  his  followers  :     "  At  last  he  comes, 

He  that  deceives  the  people  with  great  signs, 

ind  for  the  tinkling  of  a  little  gold 

Preaches  new  gods.     Forth  with  your  swords,  and  if 

Chat  God  he  serves  can  save  him,  let  him  prove  ! " 

Dark  with  wrath 
Thus  spake  Mac  Kyle ;  and  all  his  men  approved, 
?h ve  Garban.     Crafty  he,  and  full  of  lies, 
That  thing  which  Patrick  hated.     Sideway  first 
rlancing,  as  if   some  secret  foe  were  nigh, 
le  spake  :     ' *  Mac  Kyle  !   a  counsel  for  thine  ear  ! 
The  people  love  this  stranger.     Patrick  slain, 
Their  wrath  will  blaze  against  us,  and  demand 
Vn  eric  for  his  head.     Let  us  by  craft 
Jnravel  first  his  craft ;   then  safe  our  choice, 
faithless  to  slay  him,  or  great  ransom  take, — 
mpostors  lack  not  gold.     Lay  me  as  dead 
Jpon   a  bier ;  above  me  spread  yon  cloth, 
md  make  your  wail ;  and  when  the  seer  draws  nigh 
♦Ulster. 


&6  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Worship  him,  crying,  '  Lo,  our  friend  is  dead  ! 

Ilneel,  prophet,  kneel,  and  pray  the  God  thou  serv'st 

To  raise  him/.   If  he  kneels,  ho  prophet  he. 

Bat  like  the  race  of  mortals.     Sweep  the  cloth 

Straight  from  my  face;  and,  laughing,  I  will  rise." 

Thus  counselled  Garban  ;  and  the  counsel  pleased; 

Yet  pleased  not  God.     Upon  a  bier,  branch-strewn, 

They  laid  their  man,  and  o'er  him  spread  a  cloth. 

They  found  the  Saint,  and  brought  him  to  that  bier, 

And  made  their  moan,  and  Garban  'neath  that  cloth 

Smiled  as  he  heard  it  :     "Lo,  our  friend  is  dead  ! 

Great  prophet  kneel ;  and  pray  the  God  thou  serv'st 

To  raise  him  from  the  dead." 

The  man  of  G 

Upon  them  fixed  a  sentence-speaking  eye— 

"  Yea  !  he  is  dead.     In  this  ye  have  not  lied ! 

Behold,  this  day  shall  Garban's  covering  be 

The  covering  of  the  dead.     Eemove  that  cloth  V 

Then  drew  they  from  his  face  the  cloth  ;  and  lo  ! 
Beneath  it  Garban  lay,  a  corpse,  stone-cold. 

Amazement  fell  upon  that  bandit  throng, 

Contemplating  that  corpse,  and  on  Mac  Kyle. 

At  last  Mac  Kyle  made  answer:     "I  have  sinned; 

I,   and  this  people,  whom  I  made  to  sin. 

Now,  therefore,  to  thy  God  we  yield  ourselves 

Liegemen  henceforth,  his  thralls  as  slave  to  lord 

Or  horse  to  master.     That  which  thou  command'st 

That  will  we  do."    And  Patrick  said:    "Believe; 

Confess  your  sins;  and  be  baptized  to  God, 

The  Father,  and  the  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit, 

And  live  true  life."    Then  Patrick,  where  he  stood 

Above  the  dead,  with  hands  uplifted  preached 

To  these,  in  anguish  and  in  terror  bowed, 

The  tidings  of  great  joy  from  Bethlehem's  crib 

To  Calvary's  cross.     Sudden  upon  his  knees, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  97 

eart-pierced,  as  though  he  saw  that  Head  thorn-pierced, 

ill  that  wild  chief,  and  was  baptized  to  God. 

rid,  lifting  up  his  great  strong  hands,  while  still 

ae  water  streamed  adown  his  matted  locks, 

s  cried:     "Alas,  my  master  and  my  sire! 

hat  eric  must  I  pay  to  quit  my  sin?" 

im  Patrick  answered  :     "  God  shall  be  thy  judge. 

rise,  and  to  the  seaside  fee,  as  one 

lat  flies  his  foe.     There  is  halt  thou  find  a  boat 

ade  of  one  hide.     Eat  nought,  and  nothing  take 

ccept  one  cloak  alone  ;  but  in  that  boat 

:  thou,  and  bear  the  sin-mark  on  thy  brow, 

.cing  the  waves,  oarless  and  rudderless  ; 

id  bind  the  boat-chain  thrice  around  thy  feet, 

id  fling  the  key  with  strength  into  the  mum, 

r  as  thou  canst ;    and  wheresoever  the  breath 

God  shall  waft  thee,  there  till  death  live  thou, 
orking   the  will  Divine."     The  chief  replied, 
.,  that  commanded  others,  can  obey." 

Then  rose  that    chief,  and  rushed 
»wn  to  the  shore,  as  one  that  flies  his  foe ; 
id  loosed  a  little  boat,  of  one  hide  made, 
^d  sat  therein,  and  round  his  ankles  wound 
ie  boat-chain  thrice  ;  and  flung  the  key  far  forth. 

|'ift  rushed  that  boat,  oarless  and  rudderless, 

id  when  the  morn  shone  out  upon  the  sands 

/o  white-haired  elders  in  the  salt  air  knelt 

j'ering  to  God  their  early  orisons, 

ninri  and  Romael.     Sixty  years 

ese  two  unto  a  hard  and  stubborn   race 

.d  preached  the  Word;  and  daily  prayed  their  God 

send  some  happier  arm,  ere  yet  they  died. 
n  years  they  prayed,  not  doubting,  aad  from  God, 
10  hastens  not,  this  answer  had  received  : 
fe  shall  not  die  until  ye  see  his  face." 


98.  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Therefore,  each  morning  peered  they  o'er  the  waves, 

Long  watching.     These  through  breakers  dragged  the  man, 

Their  wished-for  prize,  half -frozen,  and  nigh  to  death, 

And  bare  him  to  their  home,  and  fed,  and  warmed, 

And  heaped  his  couch  with  skins.     The  weeks  ran  on, 

And  daily  those  grey  elders  ministered 

God's  teaching  to  that  chief,  demanding  still, 

"Son,  understands  thou  ?     Gird  thee  like  a  man 

To  clasp  and  hold  the  total  faith  of  Christ, 

And  give  us  leave  to  die."    The  months  fled  fast. 

Ere  violets  bloomed  he  knew  the  creed  ;  and  when 

Far  heathery  hills  purpled  the  autumnal  air, 

He  sang  the  Psalter  whole.     Then  said  the  Lord, 

"Now  is  your  task  completed;  ye  shall  die." 

Then  on  the  red  sand  knelt  those   elders  twain 

With  hands  upraised,   and  all  their  hoary  hair 

Tinged  like  the  foam-wreaths  by  that  setting  sun, 

And  sang  their  "Nunc  Dimittis."     At  its  close 

They  found  the  place  where  first,  that  bark  descried, 

Their  sighs  were   changed   to   songs.      That   spot  they  marke 

And  said,  "  Our  resurrection  place  is  here." 

And,  on  the  third  day  dying,  in  that  place 

The  man  who  loved  them  laid  them  ;  at  their  heads 

Planting  one  cross,  because  their  hearts  were  one, 

And  one  their  lives.     On  him,  their  son  in  Christ, 

Their  mantle  fell,  and  strength  to  him  was  given. 

Long  time  he  toiled  alone  ;  then  round  him  flocked 

Helpers  from  far.     At  last,  by  voice  of-  all, 

He  gat  the  island's  great  episcopate, 

And  king-like  ruled  the  region.     This  is  he, 

Mac  Kyle  of  Uladh,  bishop,  and  penitent, 

Saint  Patrick's  missioner  in  Manann's  Isle, 

Sinner  one  time,  and,  after  sinner,  saint 

World  famous.     May  his  prayer  for  sinners  plead ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  99 


THE  KING'S  JOY-BELLS. 


KATE   A.    BRADLEY. 


npHE  king  sent  forth  an  edict  through  the  land 
^~     And  laid  upon  each  subject  his  command, 
To  bring  of  purest  silver  some  fair  part, 
Which,  cast  and  fashioned  by  the  smithy's  art, 
Should  live  anew,  a  chime  of  joy-bells  clear, 
The  mighty  monarch's  sorrowing  heart  to  cheer. 

And  that  their  music  should  be  all  of  joy 
He  bade  the  smith  such  workmen  to  employ 
As  had  no  thought  of  sorrow  in  their  hearts 
And  knew  no  wound  from  Fate's  unfriendly  darts. 
On  pain  of  death  no  faintest  sound  of  woe 
Should  mingle  with  their  echoing  blow  on  blow. 

Then  should  the  king  of  all  his  grief  be  cured, 
For  so  in  nightly  dreams  was  he  assured. 
The  bells  were  finished.     In  the  market-place 
Was  builded  high  a  tower  of  richest  grace, 
Which  hid  within  such  wondrous  melody, 
As  yet  unborn  and  waiting  to  be  free. 

The  throng  stood  silent;  scarce  a  murmured  word 
Throughout  the  solemn  hush  expectant  stirred. 
The  king  raised  high  his  royal  hand  in  pride, 
And  to  the  waiting  ringers  loudly  cried  : 
■e  King  ye  the  bells  ! "    And  instant  at  his  voice 
Bang  out  the  bells  to  bid  his  soul  rejoice. 

But  at  the  sound  the  multitude,  dismayed, 
Looked  in  each  others'  eyes  and  grew  afraid  ; 
For  through  the  summer  air  the  joy-bells  clear 


100  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Tolled  but  one  tuneless  note  of  woe  and  fear ; 
And  let  the  ringers  ring  with  all  their  might, 
No  sound  of  joy  pealed  from  the  tower's  height. 

"  "Who  has  done  this  ? "  the  monarch  cried  at  last ; 
And  through  the  throng  in' angry  questioning  passed. 
But  none  could  answer  him  until  he  came 
To  one  who  stood  apart,  of  unknown  nanie ; 
She  went,  and  kneeling  low  before  his  feet 
She  prayed  :  "  0  king,  your  pardon  I  entreat ! 

"  On  me  alone  let  all  your  anger  rest, 
For  I  have  sinned  against  your  stern  behest. 
That  your  grief  might  be  easily  allayed 
Such  heavy  burden  on  your  poor  you  laid 
That  while  they  brought  their  silver  to  your  feet 
Their  hungry  children  wept  for  food  to  eat  ! 

"And  as  I  gave  my  bread  that  they  might  live 
My  tears  flowed  o'er  the  treasure  I  must  give 
At  your  demand ;  and  as  I  wept  I  prayed 
That  you  might  turn  your  heart  and  give  your  aid 
In  royal  measure  to  your  starving  poor. 
Now  death,  0  king,  I'll  easily  endure  !" 

The  king  stood  silent  for  a  little  space ; 
The  woman  waiting  knelt  with  hidden  face. 
Then  suddenly  he  cried  :  "  Go,  tear  the  bells 
From  out  their  tower  !     Their  music  only  tells 
Of  sadness  and  of  snffering  untold  ! 
Go,  change  their  silver  for  my  ruddy  gold, 

"And  give  until  of  poor  throughout  the  land 
There  is  not  one  ! "     Lo  !  at  the  king's  command 
Went  up  a  nation's  shout  of  joy  profound, 
And  all  his  sadness  lifted  at  the  sound  ; 
And  as  he  raised  the  woman  at  his   feet 
He  breathed, a  prayer  of  praise,  his  joy  complete. 


AND  HECITA  TIONS.  101 


WHEN  OLD  JACK  DIED. 


.      JAMES   WHITCOMB    RILEY. 

T^HEN"  Old  Jack  died  we  stayed  from  school  (they  said 

At  home  we  needn't  go  that  day),  and  none 
[Of  us  ate  any  breakfast — only  one, 
m  that  was  papa — and  his  eyes  were  red, 
hen  he  came  round  where  we  were,  by  the  shed 
Where  Jack  was  lying,  half-way  in  the  sun 
And  half-way  in  the  shade.     When  we  begun 
»  cry  out  loud,  pa  turned  and  dropped  his  head 
And  went  away  ;  and  mamma,  she  went  back 
Into  the  kitchen.     Then  for  a  long  while, 

All  to  ourselves,  like,  we  stood  there  and  cried  : 
We  thought  so  many  good  things  of  Old  Jack, 
And  funny  things— although  we  didn't  smile, 
We  couldn't  only  cry  when  Old  Jack  died. 

ben  Old  Jack  died,  it  seemed  a  human  friend 
Had  suddenly  gone  from  us  ;  that  some  face 
fhat  we  have  loved  to  fondle  and  embrace 
3m  babyhood,  no  more  would  condescend 

smile  on  us  forever.     We  might  bend 
With  tearful  eyes  above  him,  interlace 
)ur  chubby  fingers  o'er  him,  romp  and  race, 
$ad  with  him,  call  and  coax — aye,  we  might  send 
Phe  old  halloo  up  for  him,  whistle,  hist, 

(If  sobs  had  let  us),  or,  as  wildly  vain, 

Snapped  thumbs,  called  «  Speak,"  and  he  had  not  replied ; 
We  might  have  gone  down  on  our  knees  and  kissed 

The  tousled  ears,  and  yet  they  must  remain 
Deaf,  motionless,  we  knew,  when  Old  Jack  died. 


102  WERNER'S  READINGS 

When  Old  Jack  died,  it  seemed  to  us,  some  way, 
That  all  the  other  dogs  in  town  were  pained 
With  our  bereavement,  and  some  that  were  chained 
Even,  unslipped  their  collars  on  that  day 
To  visit  Jack  in  state,  as  though  to  pay 
A  last  sad  tribute  there  ;  while  neighbors  craned 
Their  heads  above  the  high  board  fence,  and  deigned 
To  sigh  "Foor  dog!"  remembering  how  they 
Had  cuffed  him  when  alive,  perchance,  because, 
For  love  of  them,  he  leap'd  to  lick  their  hands; 
Now  that  he  could  not,  were  they  satisfied  ? 
We  children  thought  that,  as  we  crossed  his  paws, 
And  o'er  his  grave,  'way  down  the  bottom-lands, 
Wrote,  "  Our  First  Love  Lies  Here,"  when  Old  Jack  diei 


SOMEBODY'S     BOY. 


A    STOEY    OF   THE   BATTLE   OF   MALVERN"   HILL. 


A   S  we  were  falling  back  upon  Malvern  Hill,  the  rear  gua 
-*-*-    fighting  back  the   Confederate  advance,   our  brigade  wj 
wheeled  to  the  left,  and  another  to  the  right,  to  cover  the  narrc 
highway  and  give  the  wounded  and  the  stragglers  an  opportune 
to  close  up.     Across  the  fields,  which  were  broken  and  woode 
advanced  the  enemy's  skirmishers,  followed  by  a  double  line 
battle.     We  checked  them  with  a  volley,  but  they  re-formed  a; 
charged  with  a  cheer.     I  could  see  their  faces  very  plainly  und 
the  smoke,  and  as  they  rushed  forward  I  noticed  that  the  mi 
directly  in  front  of  me  was  not  a  man  but  a  stripling  of  a  boy.    ] 
did  not  look  to  be  more  than  fifteen  years  old,  and  his  face  $| 
white  and  scared.     Had  he  been  a  man  I  should  have  killed  hi 
I  could  have  hit  him   with   my  eyes  shut,  for  he  was  comi 
straight  upon  me.     When  I  saw  that  it  was  a  boy  I  couldn't 
upon  him.     I  covered  him  once,  but  his  scared  face  turned  ijj 
gun  away. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  103 

We  let  them  come  charging  up  until  some  of  the  more  impet- 
uous were  almost  over  us,  and  then  there  was  an  awful  crash  of 
musketry — a  great  billow  of  flame — a  thousand  cries  and  groans, 
i  The  flame  of  death  had  licked  up  their  lines.  I  looked  for  the 
[boy  as  the  smoke  lifted.  lie  stood,  musket  in  hand,  staring  about 
as  if  paralyzed.  Every  man  had  gone  down  for  ten  feet  either  side 
of  him.  As  our  cheers  burst  forth,  the  boy  faced  about  with  the 
remnant  of  the  line  and  retreated  to  cover.  I  rejoiced  over  his 
escape,  and  hoped  that  if  another  charge  was  made  he  would  not 
be  with  them. 

Half  an  hour  passed  and  now  we  were  the  rear  guard — a  brigade 
holding  the  narrow  road.  We  saw  the  enemy  massing  for  another 
charge,  and  again  we  made  ready  to  receive  them.  As  they  came 
forward  I  saw  the  same  white-faced  boy,  this  time  a  little  to  the 
left  of  me. 

"  Don't  shoot  that  boy  !  "   I  called  to  the  men  beyond  me. 

The  third  man  on  the  left  was  in  line  with  the  boy.  He  looked 
up  at  me  with  a  sardonic  smile,  and  then  he  rested  his  musket  and 
covered  the  boy,  to  kill  him  when  the  word  came  to  fire.  An  enemy 
was  an  enemy  to  him,  whether  man  or  boy.  He  was  there  to  kill, 
held  my  breath  as  the  double  line  again  advanced.  A  little 
.closer  and  they  fired  a  volley,  and  then  charged.  They  sought 
our  death — they  were  following  us  to  destroy — they  had  no  mercy. 
And  yet,  as  I  fired  into  the  smoke,  knowing  that  my  bullet  must 
find  a  human  target,  I  was  consoled  by  the  reflection  that  I  was 
not  shooting  at  the  boy — at  Somebody's  Boy.  If  he  was  killed,  it 
would  be  by  the  man  on  my  left,  and  he  must  answer  for  it. 

The  enemy  could  not  budge  us.  They  couldn't  touch  our 
flanks,  cand  a  charge  in  front  was  simply  slaughter.  Our  volleys 
I  broke  their  lines — threw  them  into  confusion — and  they  were 
breasted  back  again.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  looked  for  the  boy. 
The  powder-smoke  whirled  about,  dove  down,  lifted  up,  floated 
iway  among  the  tree-tops,  and  my  heart  bounded  as  I  saw  Some- 
body's Boy  again.  He  stood  with  two  comrades — the  remnant, 
perhaps,  of  his  whole  company.  Just  as  I  got  a  glimpse  of  him 
;he  three  turned  to  obey  the  call  to  retreat,  and  I  swung  my  cap 


104  WERNER'S  READINGS 

and  cheered.  Our  whole  line  was  cheering — the  others  because 
they  had  again  repulsed  the  enemy,  I  because  Somebody's  Boy  had 
escaped. 

And  when  I  looked  along  our  line  to  the  left,  wondering  how 
the  man  with  the  grim  face  and  murderous  heart  had  missed  his 
target,  I  saw  him  lying  dead  on  the  ground — stone  dead.  A  bullet 
had  struck  him  fair  in  the  forehead. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  LOCOMOTIVE. 


rpHEY  fed  me  with  fire  and  heaped  me  with  coal, 
-*-      Till  I  glowed  with  the  pride  of  my  newly-made  soui ; 
Then  they  gave  me  a  drink  from  the  cool-flowing  stream, 
But  my  heart's  inward  fire  soon  turned  it  to  steam  ; 
It  quenched  not  my  thirst,  and  soon  heated  me  more, 
I  began  now  to  pant  and  with  madness  to  roar. 
Then  they  roused  up  the  fire  within  me  again, 
Till  I  hissed  and  began  from  my  holdings  to  strain— 
For  I  longed  to  be  bounding  away  o'er  the  earth, 
And  to  prove  to  weak  mortals  my  glorious,  birth. 

Oh,  then,  when  I  thought  to  be  free  and  go  forth — 

To  rush  unrestrained  to  the  south,  to  the  north — 

They  bound  to  my  back  large  masses  of  men, 

That  I  was  to  carry  through  valley  and  glen; 

So  I  gave  a  wild  scream  as  they  loosened  my  chain, 

And  the  city  re-echoed  my  shrill  note  of  pain. 

I  was  free — yet  a  slave— as  I  hurried  along, 

Still  dragging  behind  me  that  pale  human  throng; 

I  knew  that  they  feared  me,  and  laughed  out  aloud 

As  I  thought  of  that  trembling,  fear-shaken  crowd. 

We  soon  left  the  town,  black  and  smoking,  behind  ; 
And  I  bore  them  along  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind 


AND   RECITATIONS.  105 

That  went  howling  and  roaring  among  the  tall  trees, 

But  further  on  fell  to  a  calm,  sighing  breeze. 

For  through  valleys  with  meadow  and  smiling  fields  decked, 

I  now  hurried  onward,  free,  mad,  and  unchecked. 

Then  a  high  mountain  suddenly  rose  on  the  view — 

And  I  doubted  if   I  could  go  over  or  through  ; 

And  to  seek  a  way  round  it  I  felt  was  too  late, 

I  was  bound   to  one  road  and  that  fearfully  straight ; 

I  deemed  that  I  now  should  be  dashed  in  the  air, 

And  gave  what  I  thought  my  last  shriek  of  despair; 

In  a  moment  a  cavern,  wide,  awful,  and  black, 

I  was.  forced  to  plunge  into — I  could  not  turn  back. 

Still  forward  I  sped  through  that  dim,  dreary  place, 

As  though  with   myself  I  were  running  a  race ; 

For  nothing  opposed  me,  none  crossed  my  long  path  ; 

All  seemed  to  have  fled  far  away  from  my  wrath. 

Soon  a  shriek,  like  my  own,  woke  the  cavern's  repose, 

And  a   deep,  rumbling  noise  in  the  distance  arose; 

Then  I  saw  coming  onward  a  dull,  glowing  light, 

That  luridly  lit  up  the  hideous  night  ; 

I  saw  Fd  a  brother — we  laughed  as  we  passed, 

For  our  greeting  was  quick  as  the  rush  of  the  blast. 

My  strength  and  my  power  so  j)roudly  I  knew, 
That  I  strove  to  be  rid  of  the  load  which  I  drew ; 
And  when  the  broad  daylight  streamed  on  me  again, 
The  rate  of  my  fleetness  no  hand  could  restrain. 
I  hurled  myself  headlong,  with  savage  delight, 
From  the  edge  of  a  dizzy,  precipitous  height. 
Then  I  lay  like  a  wreck,  bruised,  mangled,  and  torn, 
'Mid  the  groaning  and  screams  of  those  beings  forlorn 
That  I  dragged  over  with  me — my  masters  before, 
Now  my  victims,  but  soon  to  be  masters  once  more; 
For  my  power  had  fled  with  this  effort  of  hate, 
And  I  passively  yielded  at  last  to  my  fate. 


106  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  WHITE  HEARSE. 


ii  TSN'T  it  pretty  ?"  said  a  little  old  man,  as  he  wheeled  a  bat 
.    -L    carriage  to  where  I  was  sitting  in  the  park. 

"  It  must  be  pretty/'  said  I,  looking  into  the  carriage,  and  sei 
ing  a  tiny  creature,  snugly  nestling  in  a  downy  nest,  its  face  co" 
ered  with  a  delicate  lace  veil. 

The  little  old  man  was  delighted  ;  his  little  old  chin  went  twi 
a-twit-a-twee,  and  he  chirped  like  a  bird. 

"  They  keep  his  face  covered,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  since  tit 
little  white  hearse  drove  away  from  the  house  the  other  day.     Bi 

I— ' 

The  little  old  man  stopped  and  looked  all  around  with  h 

twinkling  eyes. 

"I  will  show  its  face  to  you  ;  it's  so  very,  very  pretty."  An 
the  little  old  man's  chin  again  went  twit-a-twit-a-twee. 

"  They  will  be  angry,  but  I'm  so  proud  of  its  pretty  face  that 
must  show  it." 

The  little  old  man  took  the  lace  that  covered  the  baby's  face  i 
his  trembling  fingers,  and  I  prepared  to  burst  into  exclamations  \ 
delight,  even  if  the  face  should  prove  to  be  the  homeliest  face  i 

the  world. 

"  Mustn't,"  a  little  child  said,  coming  from  behind  the  bushe 
and  seizing  the  coat-tails  of  the  little  old  man.    "  Danpa  mustn't, 

"  The  flies  will  annoy  Rose,"  a  gentle  girl  of  twelve  said,  joi 
ing  the  little  group  and  carefully  replacing  the  lace.  Close  obse 
vation  showed  a  tear  trembling  in  the  girl's  eye,  as  the  little  o] 
man  wheeled  away  the  carriage,  with  the  little  child  dancing  t 

his  side. 

"  Oh,  it's  such  deception  !"  she  exclaimed,  burying  her  face  ) 
her  hands.  "  Baby  Rose  died  last  week,  and  we  are  afraid  to  te 
grandpa,  as  his  mind  is  weak,  and  she  was  his  idol ;  so  we  put 
doll  in  the  carriage,  closely  veiled,  so  he  cannot  see  its  face,  and  1 
him  wheel  it  around.    But  it's  dreadful." 


AND  RECITATIONS.  .  107 

Just  then  the  little  old  man  paused,  left  the  little  child  with 
the  carriage,  and  came  back  to  where  the  girl  was  seated.  He  put 
his  face  close  to  hers  and  whispered  : 

"  What  was  it  that  they  carried  away  in  the  little  white  hearse  ?" 

The  poor  girl  turned  away  her  face. 

'*  Flowers,  only  flowers,  grandpa." 

"  I  wonder,"  the  little  old  man  mused,  "  why  they  all  turn  their 
ifaces  away  when  they  tell  me  what  they  carried  away  in  that  little 
white  hearse  ?  "  Then  he  went  to  the  carriage  again  and  chirped 
like  the  merry  little  old  man  that  he  was. 

"Flowers,  only  flowers,"  I  heard  him  murmur,  as  he  wheeled 
the  doll  away. 


WHAT  ECHO  SAID. 


^\NCE  on  a  time  two  little  boys, 
^-^     And  naughty  ones  you'll  say, 
Eesolved,  before  they'd  go  to  school, 
That  they  would  go  and  play. 

Said  William  to  his  brother  Dick, 
"We  shall  not  be  found  out." 

But  Echo  mocked  the  naughty  boy, 
And  answered,  "  Be  found  out." 

"  I  fear,"  said  Dick  to  little  Will, ' 
"That  some  one  overhears;" 
He  looked  to  see,  and  Echo  then 
Cried,  "  Some  one  overhears." 

"  0  never  mind,"  said  William,  then  ; 
"  Come,  do  not  be  afraid  ;" 
And  when  they  both  began  to  play. 
Said  Echo,  "  Be  afraid." 


108  WERNER'S  READINGS 

,    "What  can  it  be  ?"  said  William; 
"  Oh  let  us  go  to  school/' 
For  he  began  to  be  afraid  ; 
Said" Echo,  "Go -to  school." 

Then,  softly  whispering,  they  said, 
"Oh,  if  our  master  knows  !" 

But  Echo,  answering  every  word, 
Said  softly,  "  Master  knows." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  then  William  said  \ 
•    "  We  must  ;not  tell  a  lie."     • 
And  then  they  heard  the  Echo's  voice 
Say,  "  Must  not  tell  a  lie." 

"  I  never  will  do  this  again 
If  master  will  forgive," 
Said  Will  to  Dick,  and  then  the  voice 
Said,  "Master  will  forgive." 

"  We  shall  not  be  so  very  late 
If  we  make  haste  away ; " 
And  Echo,  with  a  warning  voice, 
Cried  out,  "Make  haste  away." 

Then  Dickey  dried  his  tears,  and  said, 
"I  will  d6   so  ho  more;" 

And  Echo  in  a  cheerful  voice 
Then  said,  "Do  so  no  more." 

"Then  we'll  be  off  to  school,"  said  they, 
And  off  they  quickly  ran, 
And  happily  were  just  in  time 
Before  the  school  began.- 

Remember,  then,  my  little  friends, 
Though  Echo  nothing  knew, 

There's  One  above  who  always  knows 
Both  what  you  (say  and  do.       , 


AND  RECITATIONS.  109 


THE  VISION  OF  HANDEL. 


P.    L.    BLATCHFOKD. 


TN  his  room  alone  and  silent, 
-*-     Handel,  the  composer,  knelt, 
All  his  mighty  mind  with  reverence 

On  the  task  before  him  bent. 
In  his  hand  a  scroll  unfinished, 

Wherein  he  had  penned  each  chord 
Of  that  wondrous  oratorio — 

Sacred  drama  of  the  Lord. 

But  his  power  seemed  to  have  left  him, 

And  his  heart  was  filled  with  woe, 
When,  athwart  the  deepening  shadows, 

Lo  !  there  gleamed  a  radiant  glow. 
There,  amidst  celestial  glory, 

Stood  an  angel,  bright  and  fair, 
Smiling  on  the  great  musician 

Who  in  anguish  bended  there. 

Then  the  angel  touched  him  gently, 

Pointing  with  uplifted  hand 
To  a  Figure,  standing  silent, 

Eobed  in  white,  on  golden  strand; 
But  the  marks  were  still  about  Him, 

Scars  of  wounds  from  where  He  trod 
On  this  earth,  its  noblest  victim — 

"The  Incarnate  Son  of  God." 

Then  the  soul  of  the  musician 
Glowed  with  rapture  once  again, 

As  unto  his  mind  there  sounded 
That  sweet  anthem,  strain  by  strain: 


110 


WERNER  'S  READING:; 


[Recitation  continues,  with  musical  accompaniment.] 


I 

si 


know  that  my       Redeemer 


liveth, 


And  the 


-±: 


Slow,  pp 


/* 

* 


1 1__ 1 1 — , 


F=t=± 


:S~ 


:9i 


angel  bade  him 


-«?- 


m 


mf 


-f--i— •- 
•  .  -*- 


write  On  the      scroll  of  "  The     Messiah,"       Notes  to  suj 

-1—4 


■&>- 


4=^d: 


& 


Jtzt 


J— 4 


3==tfc 


-•-     -zst- 


-rf 


those  words  of  light.  Then  the 

heavenly  vision  vanished.        Still  around  him,  grand 

and  swee 


i  j-i^  r^   ?n 

^— 0-J  *      m-m-\-^-» ■ 


pp 


^^^m 


Notes  from  angels  and  archangels 
Made  a  melody  complete; 


AND  RECITATIONS, 


111 


As  the  "  Hallelujah  Chorus" 
Moderately  quick 


Sounded  forth  in  mighty 

chords,     While  all 

I  j  -«-  -*--•- 


=^=CT=r-?-^-g =i-f-r  p-p~f        sr     * 


£ 


-•— * 


things  by  Him  created.Praised  the  holy  Lord  of  Lords.  On  His  knees  the  sreat^^ 


=a=3= 


3=* 


rvr 


-- 


h=«=h 


==^=t 


i»- 


*   *• 


Raised  to  God  his  pseans  of  praise, 


-f-0-  -§-  zt  v    )aa^ 


As  he  closed  his  oratorio— Closed 
that  well- 
loved  work 
of  days. 


fflp 


raZZ. 


I 


And  his  heart  in  glad  thanksgiving 
Felt  that  every  glorious  strain 

Which  his  soul  had  learned  from  angels, 
Should  be  ndscd  to  heaven  again. 


113  WERNER'S  READINGS 

So  in  charity  he  gave  it, 

Unreserved,  a  gift  to  God, 
And  for  poor  and  suffering  mortals, 

Sounded  each  melodious  chord.* 
And  that  music  sweet  and  reverent, 

Worthy  was  to  celebrate, 
That  most  holy  life  on  record, 

Kisen  Lord,  Eedeemer  great. 

Now  on  tomb  of  the  musician,  f 

In  old  England's  abbey  grand, 
Stands  the  figure  of  an  angel 

Touching  him  with  gentle  hand. 
And  as  centuries  roll,  that  statue, 

Silent,  yet  speaks  evermore, 
To  the  heart  in  golden  legend — 
\    Mystic,  sweet,  from  days  of  yore. 

*  The  oratorio  of  ' '  The  Messiah  "  was  first  performed  in  the  New  Music  | 
Hall  in  Fishamble  street,  Dublin,  April  13,  1742.     The  composer  gave  all  the 
proceeds  to  be  divided  among  the  following  charities  :     The  Society  for  Re- 
lieving Prisoners,  the  Charitable  Infirmary  and  Mercer's  Hospital. 

f  Above  the  grave  of  Handel,  in  Poet's  Corner,  Westminster  Abbey,  a 
monument,  by  Roubillac,  was  erected  to  his  memory.  It  represents  him  in 
the  act  of  writing  "I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,"  which  is  being  dic- 
tated to  him  by  an  angel. 


LEGEND    OF    THE     HEATHER, 


T  ONGr  ages  ago  when  the  world  was  young, 
-*-^  And  the  flowers  first  had  their  birth — 
When  the  rocks  were  bare  and  jagged  and  scarred, 

And  veined  with  dark  seams  of  earth, 
The  harebells,  gentians,  and  cyclamen,  all 

In  the  midst  of  herbage  grew ; 
And  the  heather  and  fern  and  mosses  green 

Made  the  flowers  more  fair  to  view. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  113 

An  angel  came  down  from  heaven  one  day, 

He  knew  the  language  of  flowers  ; 
As  he  walked  he  talked  to  each  one  in  turn 

To  beguile  the  passing  hours. 
He  pitied  the  cliffs  so  gaunt  and  so  lone 

And  he  said  to  the  flowers  gay  : 
"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  clothe  the  bleak  rocks 

And  cover  their  boulders  gray  ?  " 

Then  the  harebells  swayed  on  their  slender  stalks, 

Trembling  they  hung  their  heads  low, 
And  murmured  :     "  The  daisies  might  like  the  rocks 

But  we  would  rather  not  go." 
Then  the  buttercups  said  :     "Do  not  ask  us, 

Our  gold  could  not  gild  their  gloom  ; 
To  dwell  in  the  shadow  of  surly  crags 

Would  be  to  live  in  a  tomb." 

The  cyclamen  shivering  sighed  with  fear, 

And  whispered,  sister  to  brother  : 
"  No  angel,  I'm  sure,  could  so  cruel  be 

As  to  make  us  leave  each  other." 
Now,  the  heather  never  a  flower  had  borne, 

But  sympathy  struck  its  chord, 
And  unto  the  angel  the  heather  said  : 

"May  I  clothe  the  rocks,  my  lord  ?" 

Well  pleased  the  archangel  was,  I  ween, 

With  the  heather  on  the  walk, 
For  he  stooped  to  caress  the  humble  plant 

And  flower-bells  sprang  from  the  stalk, 
O'er  plains,  on  slopes,  far  as  eye  could  reach, 

From  bowers  fair,  from  woodlands  wild, 
In  rifts  and  clefts  that  scarred  the  naked  rocks, 

The  loving,  happy  heather  smiled. 


114  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  TWO   CHIMNEYS. 


PHILIP   BURROUGHS   STRONG. 


TTPON  two  neighboring  village  houses 
3K      Two  chimneys  stood — one  short,  one  tall 
The  former  hidden  from  observers, 
The  latter  plainly  seen  by  all. 

The  tall  one  thus  addressed  the  other, 
As  down  he  glanced  in  high  disdain  : 

"How  mean  you  look  and  what  a  figure  ! 
You  surely  never  need  be  vain." 

"I  know,"  replied  the  short  one,  meekly, 

"I'm  but  a  very  humble  thing." 
"That  I  should  say,"  the  tall  responded, 

"And  then  you're  only  on  a  wing. 

"Now  you  must  find  it  lonely,  very, 

To  be  away  down  there  so  far, 
When  all  the  better  class  of  chimneys 

High  up  upon  the  buildings  are. 

"And  then  so  short!  to  call  you  'chimney' 

Is  most  amusingly  unfit ; 
'A  hole  within  the  roof  were  truer," 

And  loud  he  laughed  at  his  own  wit. 

"I  am  as  you  have  said,"  was  answered; 

"But  then  if  one  but  meet  the  end 
For  which  he's  made,  what  matter  whether 

He  lofty  be  or  lowly,  friend  ? 

"  We  cannot  all  be  palace  chimneys ; 

Some  must  on  common  dwellings  be ; 
If  but  alike  we  do  our  duty, 

We're  equals  quite,  it  seems  to  me," 


AND  RECITATIONS.  115 

The  night  drew  on  and  passed  ;  as  ever 

The  little  chimney  stood  next  morn ; 
But  where  is  he,  so  high  and  haughty, 

"Who  once  the  other  laughed  to  scorn  ? 

Ah,  in  the  night  a  storm  had  risen, 
And  from  his  height  the  tall  one  swept, 

'Twas  so  exposed  ;  whereas  the  other, 
Low  and  low  down,  his  place  had  kept. 

Let  us  not  envy  those  above  us 

(We  have  far  less  than  they  to  fear) ; 
But  whatsoever  be  life's  station, 

Contented  fill  our  proper  sphere. 


ARNOLD  AT  STILLWATER. 


THOMAS    DUNX    ENGLISH. 


\  H  !    I  remember  Stillwater,  as  it  were  yesterday ; 

~^-     Then  first  I  shouldered  a  firelock,  and  set  out  the  foemen 

to  slay. 

he  country  was  up  all  around  us,  racing  aud  chasing  Burgoyne, 
nd  I    had  gone  out  with  my  neighbors,   Gates  and  his  forces 

to  join. 

arched  we  with  poor  and  with  learned,  ready  and  eager  to  fight, 
here  stood  the  foemen  before  us,  cannon  and  men  on  the  height ; 
nd  onward  we  presssed  till  the  order  of  Cilley  fell  full  on  the 

ear, 
hen  we  leveled  our  pieces  and   fired,  and  rushed  up  the  slope 

with  a  cheer, 
iercely  we  charged  on  their  centre,  and  beat    back   the   stout 

grenadiers, 
nd  wounded  the  brave  Major  Ackland,  and  grappled  the  swart 

cannoneers, 
ive  times  we  captured  their  cannons,  and  five  times  they  took 

them  again  ; 


116  WERNER'S  READINGS 

But  the  sixth  time  we  had  them  we  kept  them,  and  with  them 

a  share  oi  their  men, 
Worn  as  we  were  with  the  struggle,  wounded  and  bleeding  and 

sore, 
Some  stood  all  pale  and  exhausted,  some  lay  there  stiff  in  their 

gore  ; 
And  round  through  the  mass  went   a  murmur,  that  grew  to   a 

whispering  clear, 
And  then   to   reproaches  outspoken,  "If  General    Arnold  were 

here  ! " 

For  Gates,  in  his  folly  and  envy,  had  given  the  chief  no  command, 
And  far  in  the  rear  some  had  seen  him,  horseless  and   moodily 

stand 

Knitting  his  forehead  in  anger,  and  gnawing  his  red  lip  in  pain, 
Fretting  himself  like  a  blood-hound  held  back  from  his  prey  by 

a  chain. 

Hark  !  at  our  right  there  is  cheering,  there  is  the  ruffle  of  drums ; 
Here  is   the   well-known   brown   charger,  spurring  it  madly   he 

comes  ! 

Piercing  the  tumult  behind  him,  Armstrong  is  out  on  his  track, 
Gates  has  dispatched  his  lieutenant  to  summon  the  fugitive  back. 

Wounds  they  were  healed  in  a  moment,  weariness  instantly  gone, 
Forward  he  pointed  his  sabre,  led  us,  not  ordered  us  on. 
Down  on  the  Hessians  we  thundered,  he  like  a  mad  man  ahead ; 
Vainly  they  strove  to  withstand  us,   raging   they  shivered   and 

fled. 
On  to    their  earth-works  we  drove  them,  shaking  with  ire  and 

disrriay ; 
There  they  made  stand  with  the  purpose  to  beat  back  the   tide 

of  the  day. 
Onward  we  followed,   then  faltered,   deadly   their  balls  whistled 

free  ; 
Where  is  our  death-daring  leader  ?    Arnold,  our  hope,  where  was 

he? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  117 

He  !  he  was  everywhere,  riding  hither  and  thither,  his  form 
On  the  brown  charger  careering,  showed  us  the  path  of  the  storm 
Over  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  over  the  musketry's  crash 
Sounded  his  voice,  while  his  sabre  lit  up  the  way  with  its  flash. 
Throwing  quick  glances  around  him,  reigning  a  moment  his  steed, 
"Brooks!,  that  redoubt,"  was  his  order;    "let  the  rest    follow 

my  lead. 
Mark  where  the  smoke  cloud  is  parting  !     See  where  their  gun- 
barrels  glance  ! 
Livingstone,  forward  !    On,  Wesson  !    Charge  them  !    Let  Morgan 

advance. 
'Forward  \"  he  shouted,  and  spurring  on  through  the  sally  port, 

then 
Fell  sword  in  hand  on  the  Hessian,  closely  behind  him  our  men. 

Back  shrank  the  foemen  in  terror,  off  went  their  forces  pell-mell, 
Firing  one  Parthian  volley.     Struck  by  it  Arnold  ;  he  fell. 
Ours  was  the  day  !    Up  we  raised  him  ;    spurted  the  blood  from 

his  knee. 

"Take  this  cravat,  boys,  and  bind  it ;  I'm  not  dead  yet,"  said  he. 
What !     Did  you  follow  me,  Armstrong  ?     Pray,  do  you  think  it 

quite  right 
Leaving  your  duties  out  yonder  to  risk  your  dear  self  in  the 

fight?" 
"General  Gates   sent   his  orders/'  falteringly  the  aide-de-camp 

spoke, 
"You're    to  -return,   lest   some  rashness" — fiercely  the  speech 

Arnold  broke  : 
"  Eashness  !     Why,  yes,  tell  the  General  the  rashness  he  dreaded 

is  done ; 

Tell  him  his  kinsfolks  are  beaten  ;  tell  him  the  battle  is  won  ! " 
Oh,  that  a  soldier  so  glorious,  ever  victorious  in  fight, 
Passed  from  the  daylight  of  honor  into  the  terrible  night. 
Fell  as  the  mighty  archangel,  e'er  earth  glowed  into  space  fell. 
Fell  from  the  patriot's  heaven  down  to  the  loyalist's  hell  ! 


118  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 


WILLIAM    M'GILL. 


T  ONG  years  ago  there  lived  in  monkish  cell 
-*-^     Good  Father  Clement,  learned,  wise,  austere 
"With  his  own  self,  but  never  wont  to  dwell 

On  other's  faults  with  words  of  blame  severe. 
The  guilty  and  repentant  he  would  cheer 

With  kindest  speech  of  loving  charity; 
A  priest  who  held  the  sinning  soul  more  dear 

Than  broken  laws,  though  graven  on  the  sky, 

And  looked  on  mankind's  woes  with  sympathetic  eye. 

All  day  he  wrought  amongst  the  sick  and  poor, 
And  strove  to  lighten  their  sad  load  of  pain. 

His  hours  of  sleep  he  shortened,  to  secure 
Some  time  for  study,  and  his  weary  brain 

Taxed  to  the  utmost  so  that  he  might  gain 
Knowledge  of  alchemy  and  mystic  skill, 

Hoping  by  forced  night-marches  to  attain 

To  that  famed  fount  whose  flood  heals  every  ill, 
And  Death  himself  defies  with  all  his  power  to  kill. 

Much  time  he  spent  in  vain  and  fruitless  search 
Of  this  hid  treasure,  till  the  fear  of  sin 

Against  the  laws  of  God  and  Holy  Church 

In  seeking  fruit  of  knowledge,  which  had  been 

Forbidden,  made  him  stay  his  toil  therein 

And  straight  betake  himself  to  humble  prayer. 

"Dear  Lord,"  he  cried,  "if  haply  I  may  win 
In  this  exploit,  or  if  I  should  forbear, 
Show  me,  that  I  may  cease  from  unrequited  care. 

"  Yet  if  Thy  mercy  may  this  knowledge  give, 
0  let  me  know  the  bliss  of  healing  woes ; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  119 

For  it  is  hard  to  teach  the  way  to  live 

To  souls  whose  flesh  is  racked  with  deadly  throes ; 

Nor  would  I  use  this  power  in  case  of  those 

Whom  Thy  just  judgments  have  condemned  to  die. 

But  surely  Death  too  wide  a  circle  mows, 
And  Pain's  sad  victims  in  vast  numbers  cry: 
One  year  at  least,  0  Lord,  let  me  this  cure  apply. 

';?  Then  if  Thy  wisdom  longer  shall  refuse 

To  grant  me  this  sweet  liberty  to  heal, 
The  precious  secret  I  shall  cease  to  use, 

And  to  no  other  soul  shall  it  reveal ; 
And  Thou  again  mayest  set  on  it  Thy  seal 

Removing  it  from  sight  of  men  for  aye. 
For  one  short  year  of  jubilee  I  kneel ; 

Yet  not  for  self  but  others  would  I  pray, 

Grant  me  this  one  and  take  my  other  years  away." 

Thus  this  good  father  raised  his  humble  plaint 

To  the  All  Father,  fearing  to  offend  ; 
With  meek  submission,  as  became  a  saint 

Of  ancient  creed,  he  strove  to  gain  his  end, 
And  that  same  night  did  Heaven  an  answer  send. 

An  angel  bore  a  flagon  to  his  cell, 
With  liquid  filled,  clear  as  what  clouds  suspend, 

And  spake :  "  0  man  of  God,  thy  cares  dispel  ! 

What  earthenware  may  hold  I  bring  from  Life's  own  well. 

"  Go,  use  it  freely  in  sweet  mercy's  cause, 

No  limit  am  I  bidden  to  impose, 
The  worst  transgressors  of  God's  righteous  laws — 

Bestow  its  healing  virtues  even  on  those. 
Replenish  from  the  nearest  spring  that  flows, 

For  no  dilution  can  affect  its  power, 
And  find  in  it  a  cure  for  mortals'  woes, 

To  all  who  use  it  faithfully,  Heaven's  dower, 

Defending  from  Death's  dart  till  life's  fruition  hour. 


120  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  0   think  not  such  a  secret  would  be  hid 

In  some  dark  cranny  in  great  Nature's  breast, 
While  Pain  and  Deaths  remorseless  and  unclad, 

Wrung  Sorrow's  flood  of  tears  from  the  oppressed  ! 
Could  thine  own  arm,  to  do  thy  heart's  behest, 

Wield  such  an  instrument  as  Moses'  rod, 
So  rocks  would  yield  a  cure  for  the  distressed 

Wouldst  thou  not  fill  vast  seas  with  such  a  flood  ? 

Deem  not  thyself,  0  man,  more  merciful  than  God.; 

This  was  the  message  which  the  angel  brought, 
And  this  the  gift,  the  sacred  gift  from  Heaven, 

And  by  its  aid  were  gracious  wonders  wrought 

Pale  Death  from  many  a  sorrowing  household  driven 

While  taught  by  the  rebuke  so  gently  given 

The  monk  proclaimed  the  Gospel  with  fresh  zeal 

The  cure  for  soul  and  body  passion-riven, 
Water  and  Spirit  which  together  heal, 
And  work  in  harmony  man's  dual  nature's  weal. 


THE  BATTLE   OF   LEPANTO. 


FOR    ROSARY   SUNDAY. 


[The  feast  of  the  Rosary  was  instituted  to  thank  Almighty  God  for  ha- 
delivered  Christendom  from  the  arms  of  the  Turks  by  the  miraculous  vie 
of  Lepanto,  in  1571,  through  the  intercession  of  the  Mother  of  God  impl 
with  fervor  in  the  devotion  of  the  rosary.  St:  Pius  ordained  a  yearly  ( 
memoration,  under  the  title  of  St.  Mary  de  Victoria  ;  the  feast  is  now  kn 
under  the  name  of  the  Holy  Rosary,  occurring  the  first  Sunday  in  October 

The  Boast  of  the  Turks. 

"A   LL  Europe  soon  must  feel  the  sway 

*"-     Of  Omar's  daring,  fearless  son ; 
The  Christian  true  shall  dearly  pay 
.    The  wrongs  to  us  they  oft  have  done," 


AND  RECITATIONS.  121 

Mustapha  spoke — true  Turk  of  old  ! 

Lepanto's  Gulf  afar  lie  sees: 
What  say,  ye  knaves,  a  sea-fight  bold 

Will  .throw  Europa  on  her  knees  ? 
Ye  are  a  fierce,  avenging  throng. 

Hear  ye,  by  me  'tis  proudly  said, 
The  Christian  herds  will  not  reign  long, 

When  dauntless  troops  are  onward  led ; 
They  soon  shall  know  the  Sunnite's  arms 

Will  make  them  beg,  aye,  plead  in  vain. 
Ye  Turkish  braves,  what  can  alarm 

When  foes  shall  fall  as  thick  as  rain  ? 
And  then,  when  Europe's  sons  we  hold, 

The  Koran  laws  they'll  soon  embrace ; 
Eefuse  ?     Oh,  then  they'll  quick  be  sold, 

For  sacred  oath  we'll  ne'er  retrace." 


Our  Lady's  Intercession  Invoked. 

Within  fair  Europe's  glorious  land, 
There  stood  arrayed  a  noble  band  ; 
Whose  noble  hearts,  as  strong  as  brave, 
Throbbed  for  the  cross  they  vowed  to  save. 
Yea,  they  were  threatened  by  the  foe, 
Their  joy  had  changed  to  deepest  woe  ; 
The  Moslem's  power  would  soon  hold  sway, 
Fain  would  it  swear  Christ's  faith  away. 
Lo  !     See  the  fatal  crisis  near — 
Will  Mary  now  her  children  hear  ? 
She  ne'er  refuseth  those  who  ask 
No  matter  what,  or  great,  the  task. 
<e  0  Mary,  Mother,  blessed  Queen  ! 
Whose  loving  care  we've  ever  seen, 
Strengthen  now  our  faltering  hearts 
That  deep  are  pierced  with  sorrow's  darts." 
So  prayed  the  Christian  host  that  night, 


12JJ  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Whose  dread  to-morrow  rose  to  sight. 

The  Ros'ry,  by  the  Pope's  command, 

Is  said  by  all  throughout  the  land. 

The  army  starts — a  hero  host ! 

The  Sunnite's  threat  will  prove  a  boast. 

The  Pontiff  Father  wrapt  in  prayer 

Awaits  the  news  his  children  bear. 

All  Rome  invokes  the  Queen  on  high. 
"Wait,  Pontiff  Father— vict'ry's  nigh  !" 

It  pleased  our  Lord,  high  throned  in  Heaven, 

A  vision  be  to  Pius  given  : 

He  sees  the  Moslem  on  the  field  ; 

To  Christian  arms  they're  forced  to  yield ; 

The  hands  of  Pius  high  are  raised — 
"My  Queen,"  he  cries,  "be  thou  e'er  praised! 

We  chant  thy  fame  in  solemn  lay, 

For  triumph  grand  is  ours  this  day." 

The   Battle. 

The  morning  sun  poured  down  its  light 

Upon  the  Sunnite  fleet  ; 
The  Turks — how  bold  !     Their  hopes — how  bright ! 

How  could  they  dread  defeat  ! 
The  Moslems  sure  were  grand  arrayed — 

Their  challenge  wild  they  roared  ; 
They  whet  the  warlike,  pointed  blade, 

They  bare  the  shining  sword. 
The   Christian  ships  had  now  advanced, 

They  waited  the  command  ; 
Their  colors  bright  the  scene  enhanced — 

They  were  a  gallant  band. 
The  burnished  helmets  glisten  bright, 

The  swords  flash  high  in  air  ; 
Their  words  of  cheer  bespoke  the  strength 

They  gained  from  earnest  prayer. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  123 

No  battle  e'er  so  fiercely  fought, 

Never  a  band  so  brave ; 
Never  did  Christian  yield  his  heart, 

A  holier  cause  to  save  ! 
One  long,  one  mighty  onset — then 

The     haughty  Moslems  fell ; 
One  by  one  sank  low  their  men — 

Their  fate  what  tongue  can  tell ! 
Homeward  bound,  the  Christian  crew 

Their  native  soil  they  trod; 
Nigh  to  a  sacred  shrine  they  drew 

To  speak  their  thanks  to  God. 


MY   TWENTIETH    BIRTHDAY. 


it.  k. 


;;  (~\F  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 

^S     The  saddest  are  these,"  I'm  two  times  tea. 
To  close  the  gate  on  my  garden  of  "  teens," 
To  open  it  never  again,  it  means 
To  leave  behind  those  careless  days, 
With  fun  and  study  filled  always ; 
Never  to  romp  any  more,  or  run, 
Or  throw  to  the  winds  all  fears  of  the  sun, 
Never  again  to  be  quite  care  free, 
For  twenty  I  am,  and  a  woman  should  be. 

Over  the  gate  to  my  garden  of  ''teens" 
I  look,  and  very  fair  it  seems, 
To  one  shut  out  from  its  flowers  of  delight, 
And  whose  future  path  is  dim  to  her  sight. 
For  what  will  chance  in  the  next  ten  years? 
What  of  joy  or  what  of  tears? 
Who  can  say  but  the  Power  above, 
Who  looks  on  us  all  in  pity  and  love  ? 


134  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE    TWO  BROTHERS. 


TN  Palestine  long  years  ago — 

-*-    So  runs  the  legend  old — 

Where  Kedron's  sparkling  waters  flow 

Across  their  sands  of  gold. 
And  Mt.  Moriah  lifts  his  heaa 

Above  the  sunny  plain, 
Two  brothers  owned,  as  one,  'tis  said, 

A  field  of  golden  grain. 

And  when  the  autumn  days  had  come, 

And  all  the  shocks  and  sheaves 
Stood  waiting  for  the  "  harvest  home,'"' 

Among  the  withering  leaves, 
The  elder  brother  said  one  night  : 

"  I'm  stronger  far  than  Saul, 
My  younger  brother;  'tis  but  right 

That  I  should  give  him  all 
These  sheaves  that  grew  upon  the  plain 

"We  own  together,'  so 
I'll  put  with  his  my  stacks  of  grain, 

And  he  will  never  know  !" 

Scarce  had  he  left  the  sheaves  of  wheat 

When  quietly  there  came 
Across  the  field,  with  stealthy  feet, 

And  errand  just  the  same, 
The  younger  lad,  who  said  :     "  I  see 

My  brother  Simon's  need 
Is  greater  far  than  mine,  for  he 

Hath  wife  and  child  to  feed  ; 
And  so  to  him  I'll  give  my  sheaves, 

It  is  but  right,  I  know, 
And  he  will  never  think  who  leaves 

These  wheat  stacks  on  his  row  3" 


AND  RECITATIONS.  125 

Next  morning  when  the  brothers  twain 

Began  to  count  their  store, 
Behold,  each  found  his  stacks  of  grain 

To  number  as  before  ! 
"  Why  !  how  is  this  ?"  in  great  surprise 

Each  to  himself  then  said  : 
"  I'll  watch  to  night  and  see  who  tries 

These  tricks  when  Fm  abed  \" 
And  so,  half  way  across  the  plain 

They  met — each  one  bent  o'er 
With  shocks  and  sheaves  of  golden  grain 

To  swell  his  brother's  store  ! 

Good  Saul  and  Simon  !     Would  to-day 

More  brothers  might  be  found      , 
Who  seek  each  other's  good  alway, 

And  in  kind  deeds  abound. 


A   LITTLE    PILGRIM. 


/^vlSTE  summer's  eve  ere  the  sun  went  down, 

^-^     When  men  were  hastening  from  the  town, 

To  reach  their  homes — some  near  at  hand,  some  far- 

By  snorting  train,  by  omnibus  or  car, 

To  be  beyond  the  reach  of  city  din, — 

A  horse-car  stopped,  a  little  girl  got  in  : 

A  cheery  looking  girl,  scarce  four  years  old  ; 

Although  not  shy,  her  manners  were  not  bold ; 

But  all  alone !  one  could  scarce  understand. 

She  held  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand — 

A  tiny  handkerchief  with  corners  tied, 

But  which  did  not  some  bread  and  butter  hide. 

She  laid  her  bundle  underneath  her  arm, 

And  smiling  prettily,  but  yet  so  calm, 

She  to  the  porter  said,  "May  I  sit  here  ?" 

He  answered  instantly,  "  Oh,  yes,  my  dear." 


126  WERNER'S  READINGS 

A  little  after,  and  the  man  went  round 
And  Boon  was  heard  the  old  familiar  sound 
Of  gathering  pence,  and  clipping  tickets,  too — 
The  car  was  full  and  he  had  much  to  do. 

"'  Your  fare,  my  little  girl,"  at  length  he  said. 
She  looked  a  moment,  shook  her  little  head  : 

*  I  have  no  pennies  ;  don't  you  know/'  said  she, 

•'*  My  fare  is  paid,  and  Jesus  paid  for  me  ?" 
He  looked  bewildered ;  all  the  people  smiled, 
,   (<  I  didn't  know;  and  who  is  Jesus,  child  ?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know,  He  once  for  sinners  died. 
For  little  children,  and  for  men  beside, 
To  make  us  good  and  wash  us  from  our  sin ; 
Is  this  His  railway  I  am  traveling  in  ?" 

"  Don't  think  it  is  !    I  want  your  fare,  you  know." 

"  I  told  you  Jesus  paid  it  long  ago. 
My  mother  told  me,  just  before  she  died, 
That  Jesus  paid  when  He  was  crucified ; 
That  at  the  cross  His  railway  did  begin, 
Which  took  poor  sinners  from  a  world  of  sin  ; 
My  mother  said  His  home  was  grand  and  fair ; 
I  want  to  go  and  see  my  mother  there. 
I  want  to  go  to  heaven  where  Jesus  lives, 
Won't  you  go  too  ?    My  mother  said  He  gives 
A  loving  welcome — shall  we  be  late  ? 
Oh,  let  us  go  before  He  shuts  the  gate ; 
He  bids  us  little  children  come  to  Him." 
The  poor  conductor's  eyes  felt  rather  dim, 
He  knew  not  why ;   he  fumbled  at  his  coat, 
And  felt  a  something  rising  in  his  throat. 
The  people  listened  to  the  little  child, 
Some  were  in  tears — the  roughest  only  smiled  ; 
And  some  one  whispered  as  he  looked  amazed  : 

"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  the  Lord  is  praised." 

"  I  am  a  pilgrim,"  said  the  little  thing; 

"  I'm  going  to  heaven.     My  mother  used  to  sing  . 


AND  RECITATIONS.  12? 

To  me  of  Jesus  and  His  Father's  love; 

Told  me  to  meet  her  in  His  home  above, 

And  so  to-day  when  aunt  went  out  to  tea, 

And  looking  out  I  could  not  father  see, 

I  got  my  hat  and  then  I  left  my  home, 

A  little  pilgrim  up  to  heaven  to  roam  : 

And  then  your  carriage  stopped,  and  I  could  see 

You  looked  so  kind,  I  saw  you  beckon  me, 

I  thought  you  must  belong  to  Jesus'  train . 

And  are  you  just  going  home  to  heaven  again  ?" 

The  poor  conductor  only  shook  his  head  : 

Tears  in  his  eyes — the  power  of  speech  had  fled. 

Had  conscience  by  her  prattle  roused  his  fears, 

And  struck  upon  the  fountain  of  his  tears, 

And  made  his  thoughts  in  sad  confusion  whirl  ? 

At  last  he  said  :    "  Once  I'd  a  little  girl, 

I  loved  her  much  ;   she  was  my  little  pet, 

And  with  great  fondness  I  remember  yet 

How  much  she  loved  me.     But  one  day  she  died/' 
"  She's  gone  to  heaven,"  the  little  girl  replied. 
"  She's  gone  to  Jesus.     Jesus  paid  her  fare ; 

Oh,  dear  conductor  !  won't  you  meet  her  there  ?  " 

The  poor  conductor  now  broke  fairly  down ; 

He  could  have  borne  the  hardest  look  or  frown. 

He  kissed  the  child,  for  she  his  heart  had  won. 
"  I  am  so  sleepy,"  said  the  little  one, 
"  If  you  will  let  me,  I  will  sit  and  wait 

Until  your  carriage  comes  to  Jesus'  gate. 

Be  sure  you  wake  me  up,  and  pull  my  frock, 

And  at  the  gate  give  just  one  little  knock, 

And  you'll  see  Jesus  there."     The  strong  man  wept. 

I  could  but  think  as  from  the  car  I  stept, 

How  oft  a  little  one  has  found  the  road, 

The  narrow  pathway  to  that  blest  abode ; 

Through  faith  in  Christ  has  read  its  title  clear, 

While"  learned  men  remain  in  doubt  and  fear. 


128  WERNER'S  READINGS 

DOWN  IN  THE  STRAWBERRY  BED 


TAYS  in  the  orchard  are  screaming  and,  hark! 

*-*        Down  in  the  pasture  the  blithe  meadow-lark 

Floods  all  the  air  with  melodious  notes  ; 

Eobins  and  sparrows  are  straining  their  throats. 
"  Dorothy!  Dorothy  !  "—-out  of  the  hall 

Echoes  the  sound  of  the  musical  call ; 

Song-birds  are  silent  a  moment,  then,  sweet, 
"Dorothy  !"  all  of  them  seem  to  repeat. 

Where  is  the  truant  ?    No  answer  is  heard 
Save  the  clear  trills  of  each  jubilant  bird ; 
Dawn  damask  roses  have  naught  to  unfold, 
Fresh  with  the  dew  and  the  morning's  bright  gold. 

"  Dorothy,  Dorothy  ! "     Still  no  reply — 
None  from  the  arbor  or  hedgerow  anigh  ; 
None  from  the  orchard  where  grasses  are  deep, — 

"  Dorothy  !  "     Surely  she  must  be  asleep. 

Rover  has  seen  her;  his  eyes  never  fail. 

Watch  how  he  sabres  the  air  with  his  tail ! 

Follow  him  !  follow  him  !  where  has  he  gone  ? 

Out  toward  the  garden  and  over  the  lawn. 
"  Dorothy  !  Dorothy  !  "     Plaintive  and  low^ 

Up  from  the  paths  where  the  hollyhocks  grow, 

Comes  a  soft  voice,  with  a  tremor  of  dread : 
''  Dorofy's  down  in  'e  stwawbewy  bed  ! " 

Curls  in  a  tangle  and  frock  all  awry, 
Bonnet,  a  beam  from  the  gold  in  the  sky, 
Eyes  with  the  sparkle  of  mirth  brimming  o'er, 
Lap  filled  with  ruby  fruit  red  to  the  core. 
"  Dorothy  !  Dorothy  !  rogue  that  thou  art, — 
Who  at  thee,  sweet  one,  to  scold  has  a  heart  ? 
Apron  and  fingers  and  cheeks  stained  with  red — 
Dorothy  down  in  the  strawberry  bed  1 " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  129 

SAINT  URSULA. 


JOHN   EUSKIN". 


rpHEEE  was  once  a  just  and  most  Christian  king  of  Britain, 
called  Maurus.  To  him  was  born  a  little  girl,  the  fairest 
creature  that  this  earth  ever  saw.  She  came  wrapped  in  a  hairy 
mantle,  and  all  men  wondered  greatly  what  this  might  mean. 
Then  the  king  gathered  together  his  wise  men  to  inquire  of  them. 
But  they  could  not  make  known  the  thing  to  him,  for  only  God  in 
heaven  knew  how  the  rough  robe  signified  that  she  should  follow 
aoliness  and  purity  all  her  days,  and  the  wisdom  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist.  And  because  of  the  mantle  they  called  her  Ursula.  She 
jrew  day  by  day  in  grace  and  loveliness,  and  in  such  wisdom  that 
ill  men  marveled ;  and  when  she  was  fifteen  years  old  she  was  a 
ight  of  all  wisdom,  and  a  glass  of  all  beauty,  and"  a  fountain  of 
iweet  ways.     Her  speech  was  so  full  of  all  delight  that  it  seemed 

I  though  an  angel  of  Paradise  had  taken  flesh. 

So  her  fame  was  carried  through  the  earth,  and  a  king  of  Eng- 
and,  a  heathen  of  over-seas,  hearing,  was  taken  with  love  of  her. 
le  set  all  his  heart  on  having  her  for  his  son  ^Ether.  So  he  sent  a 
nighty  and  honorable  embassy  of  earls  and  marquises,  with  goodly 
ompany  of  knights  and  ladies  and  philosophers,  bidding  them,  with 

II  courtesy  and  discretion,  pray  King  Maurus  to  give  Ursula  in 
larriage  to  either.  "  But/'  he  said,  "  if  Maurus  will  not  hear  your 
entle  words,  tell  him  I  will  ravage  his  land  with  fire  and  slay  his 
eople,  and  make  himself  die  a  cruel  death,  and  will,  after,  lead 
frsula  away  with  me.  Give  him  but  three  days  to  answer."  When  the 
mbassadors  came  to  King  Maurus  he  would  not  have  his  daughter 
ed  a  heathen  ;  so  they  spoke  out  all  the  threats.  Now  the  land 
f  Britain  was  little  and  its  soldiers  few.  while  the  heathen  was  a 
Lighty  king  and  a  conqueror  ;  so  Maurus  was  in  sore  distress.  But 
u  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  Ursula  went  into  her  chamber  and 

ut  the  doors,  and  before  the  image  of  the  Father  prayed  all  night 


130  WERNER'S  READINGS 

with  tears,  telling  how  she  had  vowed  in  her  heart  to  live  a  hob 
maiden  all  her  days,  having  Christ  alone  for  spouse.  But  if  Hii 
will  were  that  she  should  wed  the  son  of  the  heathen  king,  sh< 
prayed  that  wisdom  might  be  given  her  to  turn  the  hearts  of  all  tha 
people  who  knew  not  faith  nor  holiness.  When  the  clear  light  o: 
dawn  was  in  the  air  she  fell  asleep.  And  the  Angel  of  the  Lore 
appeared  in  a  dream,  saying  : 

"Ursula,  your  prayer  is  heard.  At  the  sun-rising  you  shall  | 
boldly  before  the  ambassadors  of  the  king  of  over-seas,  for  the  Go< 
of  heaven  shall  give  you  wisdom  and  teach  your  tongue  what  i 
should  speak." 

When  it  was  day  Ursula  arose  and  straightway  passing  to  he 
father's  chamber,  she  told  him  what  grace  had  been  done  to  he 
that  night,  and  all  that  was  in  her  heart.  Then  Maurus,  and  hi 
lords  and  councillors,  and  the  ambassadors  of  the  heathen  kin 
were  gathered  in  the  Hall  of  Council.  And  when  Ursula  entered 
one  said  to  the  Other  :  "  Who  is  this  that  comes  from  Paradise  ? 
For  she  moved  in  all  gentleness,  with  eyes  inclined  to  earth,  learnel 
and  frank  and  fair,  delightful  above  all  women.  Behind  her  cam 
a  hundred  maidens,  clothed  in  white  silk.  They  shone  brightly  | 
the  stars,  but  Ursula  shone  as  the  moon  and  the  evening  staj 
This  answer  she  made  the  king  : 

"  I  will  take  for  spouse  either,  the  son  of  my  lord  the  king  ( 
over-seas.     But  I  ask  of  my  lord  three  graces,  and  pray  of  him  I 
grant  them.     The  first  is  this  :     That  he  and  the  queen  and  the|  p 
son  be  baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  i 
the  Holy  Spirit.     The  second  is  that  three  years  may  be  given  n 
before  the  bridal,  in  which  to  go  to  and  fro  upon  the  sea,  that  I  mi 
visit  the  bodies  of  the  saints  in  Rome,  and  the  blessed  places  of  tl 
Holy  Land.     And  for  the  last,  I  ask  that  he  choose  ten  fair  maidej  I 
of  his  kingdom,  and  with  each  of  these  a  thousand  more,  all 
gentle  blood,  who  shall  come  to  me  here,  in  Britain,  and  go  with  u 
in  gladness  upon  the  sea,  following  this  my  holy  pilgrimage." 

Then  spake  one  of  the  nobles  to  Maurus,  saying :  "  My  lo 
the  king,  this  your  daughter  is  the  Dove  of  Peace,  the  same  that 
the  days  of  the  flood  brought  to  the  ark  of  Noah  the  olive  bran 


AND  RECITATIONS.  131 

j  of  good  news."  And  at  the  answer  all  were  so  full  of  joy  that  they 
I  well-nigh  could  not  speak,  and  with  praise  and  triumph  they  went 
xttteir  way,  and  told  their  master  all  the  sweet  answer  of  Ursula. 

Then  the  king  said  :     "  Truly  there  is  not  a  franker  lady  under 
o^hc  sun ;  and  I  swear  there  is  nothing  she  can  ask  that  I  will  not 
reely  give.     First  of  the  maidens  she  desires  shall  be  my  daughter 

Florence. " 

Then  all  his  lords  rose,  man  by  man,  and  gladly  named  each  his 
xjohild.  So  the  will  of  Ursula  was  done  ;  and  the  king  and  all  his 
ilfolk  were  baptized  into  the  Holy  Faith.     And  iEther,  with  the 

English  maidens,  in  number  ten  thousand,  came  to  the  land  of 
eiBritain.  Then  Ursula  chose  her  own  four  sisters,  and  a  thousand 
eiaughters  of  her  people,  with  certain  holy  bishops  and  great  lords 
it  and  grave  councillors  and  an  abbot  of  the  order  of  St.  Benedict, 
ljtnen  full  of  wisdom  and  friends  of  God. 

They  set  sail  in  eleven  ships  ;  and  those  who  dwelt  by  the 
'mores  of  the  sea  cams  forth  in  multitudes  to  gaze  upon  them  as 
wthey  passed,  and  to  each  man  it   appeared   a   delightful    vision. 

Upon  the  shoulder  of  each  was  a  pilgrim's  staff,  by  their  sides  were 

pilgrims' scrips,  and  each  ship's  company  sailed  under  the  gonfalon 
|B  the  Holy  Cross.    Ursula  in  the  midst  was  like  a  ray  of  sunlight, 

md  the  angel  of  the  Lord  was  with  them  for  guide. 

So  in  the  holy  time  of  Lent  they  came  to  Rome.     And  when  the 

Pope  came  forth  under  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  with  great  state  to 
li^reet  them,  he  put  off  the  mantle  of  Peter,  and  with  many  bishops, 
cpriests,  brothers,  and  cardinals,  set  himself  to  go  with  them  on 
| their  blessed  pilgrimage. 

At  length  they  came  to  the  land  of  Slavonia  ;  then  the  lord 
III  the  Saracens  sent  to  the  Soldan,  telling  what  a  mighty  company 
i !ad  come  to  his  land.  And  he  gathered  all  his  men  of  war,  and 
(with  great  rage  made  against  the  company  of  Ursula.  And  when 
ifchey  were  nigh,  the  Soldan  cried  :  "  What  folk  are  ye  ?" 

And  Ursula  spake  :  "  We  are  Christian  folk  ;  our  feet  are 
turned  to  the  blessed  tomb  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  for  the  sav- 

ng  of  our  souls,  and  that  we  may  win  grace  to  pass  into  eternal 

ife." 


132  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  Soldan  answered  :  "  Either  deny  your  God,  or  I  will  slaj 
you  all  with  the  sword,  and  you  shall  see  your  land  no  more." 

And  Ursula  said  :  "  Even  so  we  desire  to  be  witnesses  of  the 
name  of  God  ;  because  He  has  made  heaven  and  earth  and  the  sea 
by  His  word,  afterward  all  living  things  ;  and  willed  Himself  tc 
die  for  our  salvation.  And  who  follows  Him  shall  go  to  rejoice  in 
His  Fatherland  and  in  His  Kingdom." 

Then  she  turned  to  her  people  :  "  My  sisters  and  my  brothers, 
in  this  place  God  has  given  us  great  grace  ;  and  our  death  will  be 
life  perpetual,  and  joy  and  sweetness  never  ending.  And  above 
we  shall  be  with  the  angels." 

Then  the  Soldan  gave  commandment  that  all  should  be  slain 
And  so  was  it  done.  Yet  when  he  saw  Ursula  standing  in  the 
midst  of, the  slaughter,  and  how  she  was  exceeding  lovely  beyond 
the  tongues  of  earth  to  tell,  he  would  have  saved  her.  But  when 
she  would  not  and  rebuked  him,  he  was  moved  with  anger.  Now! 
there  was  a  bow  in  his  hand,  and  he  set  an  arrow  on  the  string  and 
drew  it  with  all  his  strength,  and  it  pierced  the  heart  of  the  glo^ 
rious  maiden.     So  she  went  to  God. 


DECEMBER. 


KT.    REV.    W.    C.    DOANE. 


"TTTHEN"  angel  hosts  sing  glory  to  God  on  high,  the  earth 

'  '       Must  ring  with  the  sweet  story  of  Jesu's  wondrous  birth. 
He  Alpha,  He  Omega,  began  that  day  to  give 
Unending  life,  unending  love  to  all  in  Him  who  live. 
0  month  !  whose  robe  of  white  snow  means  Mary,  Virgin  pure ! 
0  month  !  whose  trees  of  evergreen  mean  God's  love  true  and  sure  ! 
While  mistletoe,  like  frozen  tear,  hangs  weeping  on  the  trees, 
And  holly  boughs  bear  berries  red  as  blood,  from  sin  that  frees, 
We  learn  from  Thee  how  ever  green  the  faithful  love  must  grow 
In  hearts  His  blood  makes  white  and  clean.,  till  scarlet  be  as  snow. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  133 

A    DAY   TOO    LATE. 


MAGDALEN"  KOCK. 


TTTHEN  the  crimson  flush  of  morning 

*  '        Touched  the  sleeping  hill  with  flame, 
Peacefully  she  sank  to  slumber 

Murmuring  her  wand'rer's  name ; 
Kindly  neighbors  knelt  around  'her, 

And  her  girls  were  by  her  side, 
But  her  thoughts  were  with  another 

Id  the  hour  before  she  died. 

With  her  boy,  his  father's  namesake, 

As  she  saw  him  years  before 
Playing  football  in  the  meadow 

Scarce  a  furlong  from  the  door, 
Saw  his  stalwart  form  so  proudly 

Eise  above  his  comrade  boys ; 
Heard  his  young  voice  gaily  ringing 

Through  the  turmoil  and  the  noise. 

And  again  she  saw  him  riding 

On  the  horse  his  father  led, 
When  the  mist  rose  o'er  the  valley 

And  the  evening  skies  were  red ; 
Saw  his  childish  blue  eyes  gleaming 

As  he  passed  along  the  street, 
While  his  peals  of  baby  laughter 

Were  to  her  as  music  sweet. 

He  had  wandered  far  from  Ireland, 

And  for  long  and  weary  years 
She  had  hungered  for  a  letter 

Prayed  for  it  with  bitter  tears ; 
And  his  name  was  softly  uttered 

With  her  last  sad,  broken  prayer-— 


134  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Surely  God's  white  angels  bore  it 
To  that  land  so  bright  and  fair. 

Then  they  placed  her  brown  shroud  on  her. 

Speaking  lowly  all  the  while 
Of  her  wedding,  of  her  children, 

Of  her  gentle,  patient  smile, 
Of  the  good  deeds  done  in  silence ; 

And  they  laid  her  out  to  rest, 
With  her  rosary  in  her  fingers, 

And  the  cross  upon  her  breast. 

Later  on,  a  schoolboy  passing 

Slowly  on  his  homeward  way, 
Brought  for  her  the  wished- for  letter, 

She  had  longed  for  many  a  day, 
Written  from  a  ranch  in  Texas, 

Marked  in  parts  with  blot  and  stain, — 
One  might  guess  where  tears  had  fallen 

Thickly  as  the  summer  rain. 

And  they  read  it  by  her  bedside 

As  if  she  could  understand 
All  his  doings,  all  his  travels, 

Since  he  left  his  native  land, 
All  his  deep  remorse  and  anguish, 

All  his  trials,  all  his  fears, 
All  the  high  hopes  he  was  building 

For  his  future,  coming  years. 

Then  they  laid  it  on  her  bosom — 

And  I  think  an  angel's  tongue 
Yet  shall  read  its  message  to  her 

All  the  heavenly  host  among. 
But  for  him — ah,   me  !   what  sorrow 

Is  enough  to  mourn  his  fate 
When  he  knows  at  length  his  letter 

Came  just  one  short  day  too  late. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  135 


THE     ANNUNCIATION. 


ADELAIDE   AXXE   PROCTER. 


TTOW  pure  and  frail  and  white  the  snowdrops  shine ! 
-* — *-     Gather  a  garland  hright  for  Mary's  shrine. 
For,  born  of  Winter's  snows,  these  fragile  flowers 
Are  gifts  to  our  fair  Queen  from  spring's  first  hours. 

For  on  this  blessed  day  she  knelt  at  prayer ; 
When,  lo  !  before  her  shone  an  angel  fair. 
"  Hail,  Mary!"  thus  he  cried,  with  reverent  fear; 
She,  with  sweet,  wondering  eyes,  marveled  to  hear. 

Be  still,  ye  clouds  of  heaven  !  be  silent,  earth  J 
And  hear  an  angel  tell  of  Jesus'  birth, 
While  she,  whom  Gabriel  hails  as  full  of  grace, 
Listens  with  humble  faith  in  her  sweet  face. 

Be  still,  pride,  war,  and  pomp,  vain  hopes,  vain  fears, 
For  now  an  angel  speaks,  and  Mary  hears. 

"  Hail,  Mary  ! "  lo,  it  rings  through  ages  on ; 

"  Hail,  Mary  ! "  it  shall  sound  till  time  is  done. 

"  Hail,  Mary  !"  infant  lips  lisp  it  to-day ; 
"  Hail,  Mary  ! "  with  faint  smile  the  dying  say. 
"  Hail,  Mary  !"  many  a  heart  broken  with  grief, 
In  that  angelic  prayer  has  found  relief. 

And  many  a  half -lost  soul,  when  turned  at  bay, 
With  those  triumphant  words  has  won  the  day. 
"  Hail,  Mary,  Queen  of  Heaven  !"  let  us  repeat, 
And  place  our  snowdrop  wreath  here  at  her  feet. 


136  WERNER'S  READINGS 

RODNEY'S     RIDE* 

[July  3,  1776.] 


ELBRIDGE  S.    BROOKS. 


TN"  that  soft  midland  where  the  breezes  bear 
-*-    The  north  and  the  south  on  the  genial  air, 
Through  the  county  of  Kent,  on  affairs  of  state, 
Rode  Caesar  Eodney,  the  delegate. 
Burly  and  big,  and  bold  and  bluff, 
His  three-cornered  hat  and  his  coat  of  snuff, 
A  foe  to  King  George  and  the  English  state 
Was  Csesar  Rodney,  the  delegate. 

Into  Dover  village  he  rode  apace, 
And  his  kinsfolk  knew,  from  his  anxious  face, 
It  was  matter  grave  that  had  brought  him  there 
To  the  counties  three  upon  Delaware. 
"  Money  and  men  we  must  have,"  he  said, 
"Or  the  Congress  fails  and  our  cause  is  dead. 
Give  us  both  and  the  king  shall  not  work  his  will 
We  are  men  since  the  blood  of  Bunker  Hill." 

Comes  a  rider  swift  on  a  panting  bay : 
"  Hollo,  Rodney,  ho  !    you  must  save  the  day, 
For  the  Congress  halts  at  a  deed  so  great, 
And  your  vote  alone  may  decide  its  fate  ! " 
Answered  Rodney  then  :    "  I  will  ride  with  speed ; 
It  is  Liberty's  stress;    it  is  Freedom's  need. 
When  stands  it  ?"    ll  To-night.    Not  a  moment  spare, 
But  ride  like  the  wind  on  the  Delaware." 

"  Ho,  saddle  the  black  !     I've  but  half  a  day, 
And  the  Congress  sits  eighty  miles  away. 
But  I'll  be  in  time,  if  God  grants  me  grace, 
To  shake  my  fist  in  King  George's  face." 


.    AND  RECITATIONS.  137 

He  is  up  ;   he  is  off  !    and  the  black  horse  flies 
On  the  northward  road  ere  the  "God-speed!"  dies. 
It  is  gallop  and  spur  as  the  leagues  they  clear, 
And  the  clustering  mile-stones  move  a-rear. 

It  is  two  of  the  clock,  and  the  fleet  hoofs  fling 
The  Fieldsboro'  dust  with  a  clang  and  cling. 
It  is  three,  and  he  gallops  with  slack  rein  where 
The  road  winds  down  to  the  Delaware  ; 
Four,  and  he  spurs  into  Newcastle  town. 
From  his  panting  steed  he  gets  him  down : 
"  A  fresh  one,  quick  ;   not  a  moment's  wait ! " 
And  off  speeds  Eodney,  the  delegate. 

It  is  five,  and  the  beams  of  the  western  sun 
Tinge  the  spires  of  Wilmington  gold  and  dun ; 
Six,  and  the  dust  of  the  Chester  street 
Flies  back  in  a  cloud  from  his  horse's  feet. 
It  is  seven  ;  the  horse-boat,  broad  of  beam, 
At  the  Schuylkill  ferry  crawls  over  the  stream, 
And  at  seven-fifteen  by  the  Eittenhouse  clock 
He  flings  his  rein  to  the  tavern  Jock. 

The  Congress  is  met ;    the  debate's  begun, 
And  Liberty  lags  for  the  vote  of  one — 
When  into  the  hall,  not  a  moment  late, 
Walks  Cassar  Eodney,  the  delegate. 
Not  a  moment  late,  and  that  half-day's  ride 
Forwards  the  world  with  a  mighty  stride; 
For  the  act  was  passed  ere  the  midnight  stroke 
O'er  the  Quaker  City  its  echoes  woke. 

At  Tyranny's  feet  was  the  gauntlet  flung ; 
"  We  are  free  ! "  all  the  bells  through  the  colonies  rung.  • 
And  the  sons  of  the  free  may  recall  with  pride 
The  day  of  Delegate   Eodney's  ride. 


138  WERNER'S  READINGS. 

THE   WORK   THAT   IS   BEST. 


CARLOTTA    PERRY. 


T  ONG  centuries  ago,  in  a  famed  city 
-f     Across  the  sea,  a  great  cathedral  stood, 
A  witness  to  the  beauty  Art  had  wrested 
From  marble,  bronze  and  wood. 

One  day  the  sunlight,  through  a  slanted  window, 
Upon  a  shadowed  arch  a  moment  shone, 

Eevealing  unto  those  whose  eyes  were  lifted, 
What  none  before  had  known. 

It  was  a  sculptured  face  of  such  transcendent 
And  utter  loveliness  that  those  who  saw, 

Deemed  they  had  looked  upon  a  heavenly  vision, 
And  held  their  breath  for  awe. 

And  day  by  day,  for  many  years  thereafter, 
Men  came  from  far  and  near,  happy  to  sit 

And  wait  beneath  the  arch,  for  the  brief  sun-ray 
That  should  illumine  it ; 

And  felt  them  well  repaid  for  all  their  waiting 
If  they  could  catch,  just  for  a  moment's  space, 

Whereon  to  speak,  to  dream,  to  live,  a  single 
Swift  glimpse  of  that  fair  face. 

This  is  the  story:   When  the  great  cathedral 
Was  being  built,  one  day,  with  meek  respect, 

There  came  a  man,  aged  and  feeble,  unto 
The  master  architect, 

And  asked  that  of  the  work,  so  sweet  and  sacred, 
Some  humblest  portion  might  be  granted  him. 

His  feebleness  and  age  compassionating, 
Yet  fearing  that  his  dim, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  139 

Uncertain  sight  and  trembling,  eager  fingers 
Might  mar  some  fair  design,  some  perfect  view, 

The  master,  in  the  high  roof's  vaulted  shadows 
Set  him  his  work  to  do. 

Day  after  day,  with  sweet,  untiring  patience, 
In  his  obscure  and  humble  place  he  wrought; 

From  his  more  highly  trusted  fellow-workers 
Winning  scant  speech  or  thought. 

At  last,  one  morning,  still  and  cold  they  found  him, 
His  right  hand's  cunning  gone  ;    the  mystic  grace 

Of  death  enfolding  him,  his  face  upturning 
Unto  that  other  face 

That  he  had  wrought ;   the  face  of  the  dear  Virgin, 
For  she  it  was  whom  he  had  loved  so  well, 

That  his  last  thoughts  were  how  to  make  the  sculpture 
His  adoration  tell. 

And  as  they  gazed,  the  artists  and  the  sculptors, 
The  craftsmen  all,  whose  skill  was  making  fair 

And  grand  the  vast  cathedral,  on  the  beauty 
So  strangely  carven  there, 

"  Grandest  of  all !"  they  cried ;  and  then  they  whispered  : 
"Who  works  for  fame  or  gold  doth  something  missj 
Unheeding  praise  or  blame,  in  shadowed  silence, 
Love  hath  wrought  this  ! 

"  Grandest  of  all  !"  they  cried  ;  "before  whose  perfect 
Ideal  beauty  all  our  boastings  cease. 
Hail  to  the  love  that  thus  for  love's  sake  only 
Hath  wrought  Art's  masterpiece  X" 

So  in  the  Temple  of  the  Ages,  builded 

Out  of  men's  lives,  it  comes  to  every  one 
Some  day  to  find  there  is  no  work  so  noble 

As  that  which  love  hath  done. 


140  WERNER'S  READINGS 

SAINT     ANTHONY. 


MES.  E.  AV.  LATIMER. 


[From  Harper's  Magazine.    Copyright,  1890,  by  Harper  &  Brothers.] 

TT  was  Christmas  eve  ;   a  snow  storm  passed 
-1-     O'er  the  hills  that  o'ertop  Vienne  ; 
Rose  a  mist  that  obscured  the  hills  and  cast 

Deep  gloom  over  gorge  and  glen. 
The  women  and  girls  in  the  low-built  town 
Watched  the  flakes  as  they  hovered  down. 
But  not  long  lasted  so  gay  a  mood  ; 
For,  "Where  is  my  child  ?"  shrieked  a  mother;,  aloud  ;  ■ 

"And  where  is  my  child  ?"  "And  mine  ?" 
Were  echoed  in  chorus  by  all  the  crowd. 
For  each  had  some  loved  one  in  mist  and  cloud 

Herding  the  goats  or  tending  the  swine. 
Soon  the  church  was  filled  with  mothers  and  wives 
Wrestling  in  prayer  for  the  precious  lives  ; 
And  many  a  fond  caress  was  given, 
And  many  thanksgivings  went  np  to  heaven, 
When  all  who'd  been  prayed  for — not  all — for  yet 
Out  on  the  mountain-side,  cold  and  wet, 
Frightened,  bewildered,  and  shivering,  sat 
Two  orphan  children — little  Linette 

And  her  younger  brother  Paul. 
Deep  in  a  cave  the  little  ones  hid,  weeping, 

Their  swine  close  huddled  near  them  in  a  crowd  ; 
Paul,  into  Linette's  sheltering  bosom  creeping, 

Bewailed  his  hunger  and  the  cold  aloud. 
"  Look  np  !  take  heart,  dear  Paul  ! "  she  answered,  brightly, 

"  Ere  long  I  am  sure  we'll  safely  reach  the  town. 
And  listen,  Paul  (for  I  must  keep  on  praying), 

The  convent  bell  soon  wafts  its  summons  down." 
So  she  knelt  praying,  praying,  but  still  trying 

With  words  of  love  PauPs  courage  to  uphold  j 


AND  RECITATIONS.  Ill 

Who,  all  the  while  she  spoke,  sat  softly  crying 
And  growing  drowsier  in  the  biting  cold. 

"  Paul,  it  is  Christmas  eve,  I  now  remember  ; 

Perhaps  our  pigs  may  speak  to  us,"  she  said. 
"  They  say  beasts  talk  on  this  night  in  December, 

When  Jesus  lay  a  babe  in  cattle-shed. 

"  0  Paul,  suppose  it's  true  !     Our  swine  might  tell  us 
How  to  Saint  Anthony's  to  find  our  way. 
We'll  tell  the  Eeverend  Fathers  what  befell  us  ; 
I  know  they  will  not  turn  Christ's  waifs  away. 


a   e 


Father — our  only  Father,  we've  no  other — 
Hear  us  and  help  us.     Other  help  we've  none; 
Be  good  to  us,  because  we  have  no  mother ; 
Save  Paul  !  save  me  !     I  can't  leave  Paul  alone  ! ' " 

And,  suddenly,  the  cave  grew  brighter,  larger ; 

Their  tearful,  wondering  eyes  grew  fixed  and  big. 
Five  creatures  entered  it — a  gallant  charger, 

Two  lions,  and  a  raven,  and  a  pig. 

The  lions  stooped  and  licked  the  children's  faces, 
The  life  returned  that  had  so  nearly  fled  ; 

And  when  revived  by  warmth,  with  queer  grimaces 
The  raven  dropped  on  them  a  loaf  of  bread. 

"Leave  every  hundred  years,"  said  the  steed,  "is  given 
To  us  one  hour  on  Christmas  eve  to  speak, 
And  do,  in  honor  of  our  Saint  in  heaven, 
One  deed  of  kindness  to  the  poor  or  weak. 

"  Mount  on  my  back  ;  the  bells  will  soon  give  warning; 
We  must  depart ;  our  moments  fleet  away. 
All  children  should  be  happy  Christmas  morning ; 
The  Saviour's  birthday  is  the  children's  day." 

Down  the  steep   hill,  half^frightened  still, 
The  children  rode  the  horse  ; 


142  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  raven  fluttered  the  flakes  away, 

The  lions  slowly  broke  the  way 

Down  to  the  rocky  gorge  where  lay 

Saint  Anthony's  convent,  lone  and  grey. 

Within  the  chapel  was  warmth  and  light 

Such  as  befitted  a  Christmas  night ; 

But  every  brother  was  in  his  cell 

Waiting  the  sound  of  the  midnight  bell. 

Over  the  altar,  clear  and  bright, 

Saint  Anthony  stood  in  the  Christmas  light. 

With  hands  outstretched  he  signed  the  cross 

O'er  children  and  lions,  pig,  raven  and  horse  : 

And  then  he  slowly  faded  away, 

Like  the  lingering  light  of   a  dying  day. 

The  gallant  charger  raised  his  head, 
And  with  a  faltering  voice  he  said: 
ci  Patient  in  hardship  and  trusty  in  need, 
I  was  Sir  Anthony's  own  steed 
When  forth  he  went,  a  Christian  knight, 
For  God  and  honor  and  truth  to  fight. 
Living  creatures,  great  or  small, 
Feathered  or  furred,  he  loved  them  all. 
A  wondrous  faculty  of  speech 
God  gave  him,  too,  that  he  might  preach 
His  will  to  birds  and  beasts  and  fish, 
What  each  should  do,  what  each  might  wish. 
He  told  us  of  a  coming  day 
When  God  would  wipe  all  tears  away 
From  human  eyes.     'And/  said  he,  'then 
You,  too,  shall  share  the  joys  of  men  ; 
That  day  will  bring  your  own  release 
From  servile  fears ;  your  toil  shall  cease/ 
Some  impulse,  all  unknown  to  me, 
Prompted   Sir  Anthony  suddenly 
To  cross  the  seas  to  that  strange  land 


AND  RECITATIONS.  143 

That  lies  half-buried  under  sand. 
Not  mine  my  master's  will  to  cross — 
What  was  I  but  his  faithful  horse  ? 
But  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
That  God's  good  purpose  it  must  be 
That  in  a  world  he  once  called  good, 
Every  created  being  should 
Be  just  as  happy  as  it  could." 

Here  his  voice  faltered,   and  the  raven  said : 
1  I  was  soaring  high  in  the  air 
O'er  the  sands  of  the  desert  bare, 
When  a  fallen  knight  I  spied 
Stretched  on  the  earth  by  his  horse's  side. 
Down  I  flew,  with  glad  surprise, 
Whetting  my  beak  to  pick  out  their  eyes. 
As  my  shadow  fell  across 
The  dying  knignt  and  his  dead  horse, 
He  frayed  me  away  with  a  feeble  hand 
And  spake  in  words  I  could  understand: 
'Avaunt,   thou  cruel  bird  of  prey  ! 
Spare  my  horse — my  gallant  gray ; 
Never  knight  had  steed  so  good. 
I  charge  thee  by  the  Holy  Eood 
With  which  I  sign  thee,  touch  him  not. 
But  to-morrow  to  this  spot 
Hasten  back   and  thou  mayst  dine, 
Not  on  his  eyes,  but  on  mine.' 
As  he  spoke  thus,  in  my  breast 
Something  stirred.     I  went  in  quest 

Of  a  little  stream  not  far  away. 
I  clipped  my  black  wings  in  the  pool, 
I  drenched  myself  in   the  water  cool, 

I  fluttered  over  him  where  he  lay, 
Till  he  rose  refreshed,  as  from  trance  or  dream  ; 
And  I  guided  his  steps  to  the  healing  stream." 


144  WERNER'  S  READINGS 

Here  the  lions,  interrupting,  took  the  story  up   and  cried  : 

"  We,   too,   help  the  saintly   champion  after  Paul   the  Hermit 

died. 
Till  one  night  when  we  were  prowling  o'er  the  sands  in  search 

of  prey, 
Ere  the  dawning  gave  us  warning 'twas  the  hour  to  steal  away, 
Lo  !   we   heard  the   champion  praying :     '  Heavenly  Father,   to 

this  cave 
Send  me  someone  who  may  help  me  dig  Thine   aged  servant's 

grave  ! ' 
Soon  we  scooped  the  grave  he  needed;  in  it  Holy  Paul  he  laid ; 
Then  we  stole  away  and  left  him  as  heside  the  grave  he  prayed." 

Said  little  Paul,  the  small  white  pig  caressing, 
As  close  he  hugged  it  fondly  to  his  breast : 
"What  did  you  do  to  bring  the  saint  a  blessing? 
They  say  he  loved  you  more  than  all  the  rest." 

"Nay,"  said  the  pig,  "I  only  gave  him  pleasure; 
What  did  you  think  a  little  pig  could  do  ? 
I  was  his  link  to  earth,  his  one  sole  treasure, 
And  that  he  loved  me  best   of  all,  is  true. 

"  His  last  caress  to  me  was  faintly  given, 
For  I  was  closely  nestled   at  his  side ; 
Then  his  worn  hands  he  clasped  in  prayer  to  heaven, — 
The  angels  came  for  him  ;   and  so  he  died. 

"Men  came.     They  found  us.     Me  they  cast  forth  roughly ; 
Called  me  unclean,  unholy,  and  abhorred ; 
Said  it  was  a  shame  to  see  me  there,  and  gruffly 
Chased  me  away  from  my  dear  friend  and  lord. 

"As  I  lay  dying,  ere  my  life  departed, 

A  voice  that  with  sweet  music  seemed  to  blend 

Spake  thus  to  me  :    '  Thou  shalt  no  more  be  parted, 

Fond,  faithful  creature,  from  thy  saintly  friend. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  145 

"'Know  that  in  art  thou  shalt  be  found  forever, 
Whether  the  artist  work  in  stone  or  paint, 
Beside  Saint  Anthony.     No  hand  shall  sever 

His  faithful  pig  from  the  dumb  creatures'  saint/" 

Here  the  pig  broke  off  his  story. 

Over  town  and  glen  and  hill 
Eang  the  Christmas  bells  out :    "  Glory  ! 

Glory,  glory,  peace — good-will  ! " 

And  the  monks,  in  long  procession, 

Torches  waving,  banners  spread, 
Filed  into  the  convent  chapel 

With  their  abbot  at  their  head. 

As  he  neared  the  lighted  altar, 

"What  is  here?"  the  abbot  cried. 
For  he  saw  two  lonely  children 

Sleeping  softly  side  by  side. 

And  he  added,  as  the  others 

Gathered  round  Linette  and  Paul, 
"  They  are  Christmas  gifts,  my  brothers 
That  our  saint  has  sent  us  all. 

"In  a  vision  late  I  saw  him, 

And  be  said  :   '  Whilst  I  approve 
All  your  zeal,  one  thing  is  lacking, 
Some  frail  living  thing  to  love. 

"'Such  a  gift,  bestowed  by  heaven, 
Will  your  convent  soon  receive  ; 
Look  for  it  before  the  altar 

In  your  chapel  Christmas  eve  V 

"  Glory,  glory  ! "  sang  the  Fathers  ; 
"  Blessed  children  they  shall  be ; 
No  more  orphans.     We  will  call  them 
Children  of  Saint  Anthony!" 


146  WERNER'S  READINGS 


"WILL   MY   SOUL   PASS  THROUGH 
IRELAND  ?" 


DENNIS    O'SULLIVAN. 


C~\  SOGGARTH  aroon  !  sure  I  know  life  is  fleeting  ; 

^-^     Soon,  soon,  in  the  strange  earth  my  poor  bones  will  lie  ; 

I  have  said  my  last  prayer  and  received  my  last  blessing, 

And,  if  the  Lord's  willing,  I'm  ready  to  die. 
But,  soggarth  aroon,  can  I  never  again  see 

The  valleys  and  hills  of  my  dear  native  land  ? 
When  my  soul  takes  its  flight  from  this  dark  world  of  sorrow, 

Will  it  pass  through  old  Ireland  to  join  the  blest  band  ? 

0  soggarth  aroon  !  sure  I  know  that  in  heaven 

The  loved  ones  are  waiting  and  watching  for  me, 
And  the  Lord  knows  how  anxious  I  am  to  be  with  them, 

In  those  realms  of  joy,  'mid  souls  pure  and  free; 
Yet,  soggarth,  I  pray,  ere  you  leave  me  forever, 

Relieve  the  last  doubt  of  a  poor  dying  soul, 
Whose  hope,  next  to  God,  is  to  know  that  when  leaving 

'Twill  pass  through  old  Ireland  on  the  way  to  its  goal. 

0  soggarth  aroon  !     I  have  kept  through  all  changes 

The  thrice-blessed  shamrock  to  lay  o'er  my  clay  ; 
And  oh  !  it  has  minded  me,  often  and  often, 

Of  that  bright  smiling  valley  so  far,  far  away. 
Then  tell  me,  I  pray  you,  will  I  ever  again  see 

The  place  where  it  grew  on  my  own  native  sod  ? 
When  my  body  lies  cold  iu  the  land  of  the  stranger, 

Will  my  soul  pass  through  Erin  on  its  way  to  our  God  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  147 


A  LESSON  IN  WEIGHING. 


CHARLES  R.  TALBOT. 


/~\LD  Farmer  Ray  came  home  one  day 
^S     "With  groceries  from  the  Centre ; 
And  jumping  from  nis  queer  old  shay, 

He  called  out  like  a  stentor — 
"  Ho,  there  !     Bring  out  the  steelyards,  Ruth 

I'm  some  mistrustful,  I  am, 
Friend  Barton's  scales  don't  tell  the  truth, 

And  I'm  a-goin'  to  try  'em  !" 

So  then  his  wife  the  steelyards  brought, 

And  Farmer  Ray  proceeded 
To  weigh  each  article  he'd  bought, 

To  see  if  aught  was  needed 
To  make  it  of  the  proper  weight. 

And,  lo  !  the  trial  ended, 
The  sugar  lacked  just  one  pound  eight, 

Of  what  had  been  pretended. 

Into  his  shay  jumped  Farmer  Ray, 

And  whirled  round  in  a  jiffy  ; 
Then  out  the  gate  and  down  the  way 

He  started  off,  as  if  he 
Were  riding  for  his  life.     "Ill  teach 

The  rascal  to  cheat  me,  sir  !" 
He  muttered.     "I'll  make  him  a  speech, 

As  sure's  my  name  ain't  Ceesar  ! " 

Arrived  before  the  Centre  store, 
He  loudly  shouted,  "  Whoa,  sir  !  " 

To  Dobbin  ;  then  turned  toward  the  door, 
To  seek  the  guilty  grocer. 


148  WERNER'S  READINGS 

There,  at  his  desk,  Friend  Barton  stood, 

So  smiling,  fat  and  ruddy, 
One  felt  at  once  he  was  too  good 

To  injure  anybody. 

"  Oho  !  back  are  ye,  Farmer  Ray  ?  " 
Pleasantly  quoth  Friend  Barton  ; 
"  Left  suthia'  that  you  bought  here,  hey  ? 

Wal,  now,  I  feel  right  sartin" 

But  here  the  farmer  cut  him  short: 

"Yes,  sir  !"  he  cried  ;  "you've  hit  it! 
I  did  leave  somethin'  that  I  bought, 
And  Fve  come  back  to  git  it ! 

"  Fd  like  to  know/'  continued  he,    ' 

Though  wellnigh  choked  with  choler, 
"  How  much  white  sugar,  usually, 
You  sell  folks  for  a  dollar. 
Ten  pounds,  eh  ?    Wal,  you  jes'  weigh  this. 

Two  dollars'  wuth  complete,  it 
Purtends  to  be  ;  but  if  it  is, 
Then  I'll  agree  to — eat  it  !" 

With  this  he  threw  the  sugar  down 

Before  him  and  awaited 
His  answer,  with  a  threatening  frown. 

The  grocer,  thus  berated, 
Looked  up  amazed,  apparently, 

Although  his  mouth  was  working 
Oddly  enough,  and  in  his  eye 

A  humorous  gleam  seemed  lurking. 

"  What,  neighbor  Ray,  d'ye  mean  to  say 
There's  less  than  twenty  pound  there  ? 
Wal,  now,  that's  funny  anyway. 
Why,  neighbor,  I'll  be  bound  there 


AND  RECITATIONS.  liS 

Was  twenty  when  I  tied  the  string. 

I'll  tell  ye  how  I  know  it ; 
You'll  grant  that  this,  if  anything, 

Is  evidence  to  show  it. 

"  You  brought  some  butter  in  to-day, 

All  into  balls  made  nicely ; 
Just  twenty  of  'em — said  to  weigh 

A  pound  apiece  precisely. 
Wal,  when  I  took  'em  from  the  pail, 

(Jes'  so's  to  save  the  bother), 
I  put  all  twenty  in  one  scale, 

An'  weighed  your  sugar  in  t'other. 

"  An'  so  you  see  it  mast  be  right, 

An'  you  have  made  an  utter 
Mistake.     However,  'f  you  ain't  quite 

Convinced,  I'll  git  that  butter" 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that  !     I  beg  ye  don't!" 

Quickly  exclaimed  the  farmer. 
"  I  assure  ye  there  ain't  no  need  on't  ! 

Whew  !    Ain't  it  growin'  warmer  ? " 

He  .paused,  and  stood  and  wiped  his  brow, 

With  his  immense  bandanna — 
A  very  different  person  now 

In  look  and  tone  and  manner. 
A  sickly  smile  replaced  his  frown ; 

And  'twas  no  voice  of  thunder 
In  which  (with  eyes  that  would  drop  down) 

He  owned  he'd  made  a  blunder. 

"  You're  right !  you're  right  !     "lis  plain  as  day  ! 

I  was  mistaken  !"  said  he. 
"  Wal,  wal,  I   must  be  on  my  way  ! 

I've  stayed  too  long  already." 


t5fl  WERNER'S  READINGS 

So  saying,  he  humbly  took  once  more, 
From  where  he'd  lately  thrown  it, 

The  sugar,  and  went  out  the  door 
As  if  he  had  been  shown  it. 

'*  Wal,"  said  the  grocer,  watching  this 

Eetreat  with  quiet  laughter, 
"  I  guess  them  butter-balls  o'  his 

Will  weigh  a  pound  hereafter." 
"  Wal,"  said  the  farmer,  in  his  shay, 

Pondering  the  case,  "  the  fact  is 
I've  had  a  lesson  in  weighin'  to-day 

'T  I'm  going  to  put  in  practice." 


THE  SICILIAN  CAPTIVE. 


FELICIA.   HEMANS. 


rpHE  champions  had  come  from  their  fields  of  war, 
*-*-     Over  the  crests  of  the  billows  far ; 
They  had  brought  back  the  spoils  of  a  hundred  shores, 
Where  the  deep  had  foamed  to  their  flashing  oars. 

They  sat  at  their  feast  round  the  Norse-king's  board ; 
By  the  glare  of  the  torch-light  the  mead  was  poured, 
And  a  captive  girl,  at  the  warriors'  call, 
Stood  forth  in  the  midst  of  that  frowning  hall. 

Lonely  she  stood — in  her  mournful  eyes 
Lay  the  clear  midnight  of  southern  skies, 
And  the  drooping  fringe  of  their  lashes  low, 
Half-veiled  a  depth  of  unfathomed  woe. 

They  bade  her  sing  of  her  distant  land ; 

She  held  its  lyre  with  a  trembling  hand, 

Till  the  spirit  its  blue  skies  had  given  her  woke, 

And  the  stream  of  her  voice  into  music  broke. 

[Recitation  continues,  with  musical  accompaniment.! 


AND   RECITATIONS. 


151 


tm 


They 
Andante. 


bid  me  sing  of  thee,  mine 

own,  my  sunny  land, of  thee!  Am 
I  not 

M         S.  IS  I  h         I 

g  1      % --p-r-«  »       *  -       -      # 


P 


-f-t- 


mm^ 


tJ 


E| 


f  •  * 


—I— 


tt 


T^-J- 


2  ^ 

parted  from  thy  shores  by  the  mournful  sounding  sea?  Doth  not  thy  shadow  wrap 

jl,  my  soul?  In 


'-i— 


*r 


3=1 


S 


IE 


3=M 


^r 


±z   ! 


=t 


fife 

*r 


silence  let  me  die,  In  a  voiceless  dream  of  thy 

silvery  founts,  and  thy  pure,deep  sapphire  sky, 

tr 

J r=r=u-l J 2 


-0 — a — •- 


b^S=f-5= 


Sfei 


_-p-_>L 


bJ 


7r 


-t± 


*=*- 


5  U 


^ 


c± 


** 


:~: 


3t^ 


How  should  thy  lyre  give 

here  its  wealth  of  buried  sweetness  forth? 

Its  tones,  of  summer's  breath- 
ings born,  to  the 

s  js   I        hi.  i — 7-1 


g       I 


±* 


3>.  r ;  <d  Jgq 

j*i_  j — j-trs -j- — 


152 


WERNER'S  READINGS. 

wild  winds  of  the  north?  Yet  thus  it  shall  he  once, 

once  more ;  My  spirit  shall  awake,  And 
8ve.. thro' the 


tet 


fis 


1-0-     |      )-•-    -(— 


-l    x 


ft±& 


m. 


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seIe; 


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it 


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t*-1 


P  •*. 


m. 


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E 


£=t 


£UHJ 


1 


mists  of  death  shine  out,  my 

country,  for  thy  sake. 


/r. 


That  I  may  make  thee  known, 
with  all  the  beauty  and  the 


^siS^ 


ra 


mt 


i 


tr 


w 


^r 


t^ 


light, And  the  glory  nevermore  to  bless  thy  daughter's  

yearning  sight!  Thy  woods  shall  whisper  in  my 

song.tfty 


ttfe 


FFFF 


fe 


§Ste 


&•= 


=t= 


L£td 


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fc=fc*: 


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s*-£rgp 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


153 


brighi  streams  warble  by,  Thy  soul  flow  o'er  ray  lips 

j~.  / ■    -#-  again,— yet  once, ray  Sicily!  There 

"i> ~T~X~  n»  pocorit 


*&t£ 


3= 


-## 


=S 


fc 


*:*  "' 


£ 


/ 


9i*S 


beEE 


g_g_P- 1 — j_^ i 

»7Ef —      s-^=^=^=1 


— «— =1- 


3*2 


r" 


fs 


=t 


are  blue  heavens — far 

hence,  far   hence!  but  oh!  their  glorious  blue!  Its  very  night  is  bean- 

^^  tiful.with  the  hya- 

—  ^  ^"~"~r    x         cinth's  deep 


Be 


»m 


frr 


=)e*: 

TO 


Ej 


^ 


:tfie 


ttc 


XU 


fff* 


=Jfc 


3=7 


£3 


^= 


hue!  It  is  above  my  own  fair     land,  and  round  my 

laughing  home,  And  arching  o'er  my  vintage  hills, 
they  hang  their  cloudless 


m 


8va 


m 


a 


li 


¥ 


f 


» 


-»-  -»- 

-#— m- 

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I  1-     F-b+T 


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154  WERNER'S   READINGS 

dome,  And  making  all  the  waves  as    geins.that  melt  along  the 

shore,  And  steeping  happy  hearts  in  joy,  that 

'"-nine  "  " 

a. 


now  Is  mine  no 

I 

0- 


P 


S^^Slrl^^P 


»-» IP ^P ISJ>  tc    t» 


*tt 


f 


=^=q* 


i 


--tr 


more.    And  there  are         floating  sounds  that  fill  the     _ 

skies  thro'  night  and     day,  Sweet  sounds! 
,  I  the  joul  t( 


fefe 


£z2 


*-+ 


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m 


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ft. 


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rr-£: 


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3^tS=#W" 


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hear  them  faints  in  dreams  of  heaven  a-way!  They  wander  thro'  the  olive  woods 


*u 


ii=s=,^^mMm 


and  o'er  the 


44- 


AND    RECITATIONS. 


155 


shining  seas :  They  mingle  with  the 

orange  scents  that    load  the  sleepy 

breeze ;  Lute,       voice,  and  bird  are 
__ _____^__^_____  blending  there;— it 

N    •"       T  ~~~"       tr were  a 


bliss  to  die, As  dies  a  leaf,  thy  groves  among,  my  flow'ry 

Sicily!  I  may  not  thus  depart, — 
farewell;  yet 
CODA.  |^ . ^   |— ,^ 


=L, 


no,  my  country,  no!  Is 


not  love  stronger  than  the 

grave?  I  feel  it  must  be  so!  My  fleeting  spirit 

shall  o'er 


I 


it 


-)=-• 

£ 


-i py     j — — 1 


dim. 


Ped. 


m&t 


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WZJL 


— I — h^^™-  


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il 


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156 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


sweep  the  mountains  and  the  main, 

And    in  thy  tender  starlight 
- — 1_  rove,  and    thro' thy  woods  again 

•r*-'  Its  passioi 


» 


4=- 


PecZ. 


£T 


e*- 


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ESSE 


.0—0- 


V 


m 


P 


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Ml 


%$ 


deepens,— it  prevails !      I  break  my  chain— I  come  To    dwell  aviewless 


blest,  in  thy  sweet  air,  my 


s^E&t-  .      * 


home! 


-W=^ 


AND  RECITATIONS.  157 

And  her  pale  arms  dropped  the  ringing  lyre, 
There  came  a  mist  o'er  her  eye's  wild  fire  ; 
And  her  dark  rich  tresses,  in  many  a  fold, 
Loosed  from  their  braids,  down  her  bosom  rolled. 

For  her  head  sank  back  on  the  rugged  wall, — 

A  silence  fell  o'er  the  warriors'  hall ; 

She  had  pour'd  out  her  soul  with  her  song's  last  tone  ; 

The  lyre  was  broken,  the  minstrel  gone ! 


TENNIS     DRILL. 


MARY    DREW    WILSON, 


N"  the  new  and  popular  Tennis  Drill  for  six  young  ladies  and 
six  young  gentlemen,  or  twelve  young  ladies,  opportunity  is 
Drded  for  beautiful  and  graceful  action,  forming  a  delightful 
ture  of  an  evening's  entertainment. 

DIRECTIONS   FOR   DRILL. 

Twelve  }"oung  ladies  of  about  equal  height,  or  six  young  ladies 
1  six  young  gentlemen,  form  the  company,  with  one  lady  as 
pire  or  captain. 

The  company  may  be  dressed  in  fancy  tennis  costume.     The 

ikets,  of  medium  size,  should  be  trimmed  with  bright  colored 

bons  about  three-quarters  of  an  inch  wide  and  a  yard  and  a  half 

g,  tied  in  a  pretty  bow  on  the  handles,  and  the  .narrowest  of 

Don  to  match  may  also  be  woven  across  the  face  of  the  rackets, 

;  ing  the  place  of  the  cords.     The  captain  may  carry  an  imita- 

:i  racket  made  of  paper,  upon  which  should  be  written  the  fig- 

s  of  the  drill.     This  racket  may  be  fastened  to  a  wand,  so  that 

lay  be  used  in  marking  time.     To  every  figure  give  eight  counts. 

|   music  any  good  4-4  march  time  will  do. 

Captain  enters,  taking  her  position  near  the  front  of  the  stage 

he  left.    Company  enters  from  opposite  sides  in  single  files,  half 

number  on  one  side  and  half  on  the  other,  partners  opposite 


158  WERNER'S  READINGS 

each  other.  They  pass  each  other  across  the  back  of  the  stag< 
those  on  the  right  holding  their  rackets  in  one  hand,  those  on  th 
left  in  the  other.  Sfcill  continuing  in  single  file,  on  opposite  side 
of  the  stage,  they  march  down  to  the  front.  There  they  pass  eac 
other  in  line,  as  at  the  back,  and  as  the  partners  meet  in  the  centi 
1  and  1,  2  and  2,  3  and  3,  4  and  4,  5  and  5,  6  and  6,  form  an  arc! 
with  their  rackets.  They  march  in  pairs  to  the  front,  where  the 
separate  to  the  right  and  left,  return  to  the  back,  fall  again  int 
pairs,  cross  arms,  holding  the  rackets  erect,  and  march  to  fron 
Then  go  in  pairs,  right  and  left,  first  pair  to  right,  second  pair  t 
left,  third  pair  to  right,  fourth  pair  to  left,  fifth  pair  to  righ 
sixth  pair  to  l^i t.  March  around  and  fall  into  two  rows  across  tb 
stage — first,  third  and  fifth  in  front  row,  second,  fourth  and  sixtj 
in  back  row,  prepared  for  drill.  Eackets  must  all  be  held  in  rig?, 
hand  for  drill.  (Captain  may  pace  up  and  down,  or  stand  with  hi 
arms  folded  during  this  march.) 

After  the  company  has  formed  in  two  lines,  the  captain  a(j 
vances  and  gives  the  command. 

1.  Retreat  :  Company  takes  four  steps  back  and  are  in  positio 
for  drilling. 

2.  Courtesy  :  Right  foot  forward  in  front  of  left ;  raise  rack 
to  erect  position  on  right  shoulder,  with  right  hand,  left  har 
down  at  side.     As  racket  is  raised  to  shoulder,  all  courtesy  to  lef 

3.  Down  :    Racket  falls  to  the  side  ;  8  counts. 

4.  Head  :  Racket'  held  with  right  hand  on  head ;  8  count! 
left  foot  forward,  body  slightly  bent,  left  hand  on  hip. 

5.  Up  :    Racket  back  of  and  a  little  above  head,  held  by  boi 
hands  and  slightly  swayed  to  the  right,  head  turned  a  little  to  tl  n 
left. 

6.  Ground  :    Touch  head,  1  count ;  shoulder,  1  count ;  swii 
with  tips  of  finger?,  2  counts  ;  ground,  letting  rackets  lie  flat 
the  ground,  still  holding  them,  4  counts. 

7.  Petition"  :  Raise  quickly  from  ground,  hold  racket  direct 
out  in  front  in  right  hand,  left  hand  across  the  breast.  ig 

8.  Wave  :    High  over  heads  with  right  hand,  left  hand  do"V  p 
at  side. 


>F 


AND  RECITATIONS.  159 


9.  Listen  :  Racket  held  back  of  right  ear,  left  hand  on  hip, 
>ody  inclined  toward  the  right. 

10.  Anger  :  Partners  face  each  other,  stamp  and  raise  rackets 
mgrily  as  if  about  to  strike. 

11.  Reconciliation  :  Let  racket  fall  to  the  side,  throw  a  kiss 
rom  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  the  left  hand. 

12.  Poise  :  Racket  held  out  at  arm's  length  in  front,  left  foot 
ack,  slightly  lifted,  left  hand  resting  on  left  hip. 

13.  Rackets  Aloft  :  Right  foot  turned  to  the  right,  racket 
if  ted  and  held  by  both  hands  overhead,  elbows  bent. 

14.  Elbow  :  Left  arm  placed  diagonally  across  breast,  fingers 
auching  right  shoulder.  Allow  left  elbow  to  rest  upon  face  of 
acket ;  incline  head  to  right. 

15.  Chest  :  Right  foot  forward,  knee  bent,  racket  pressed 
gainst  chest,  with  both  hands  crossed  on  the  face  of  it. 

16.  Disdain  :  Take  opposite  direction  of  torso  and  head. 
3Cold  racket  in  left  hand  back  of  head,  right  hand  on  hip ;  step 

ack  obliquely  ;  8  counts. 

17.  Arm-Movement  :  Racket  held  by  both  hands,  moved 
orward  arm's  length,  then  backward,  striking  chest  four  times ; 

counts. 

18.  Strike  :    Four  raps  with  racket  on  the  ground  ;  8  counts. 

19.  Surrender  :  Lay  racket  at  feet.  Rise  simultaneously, 
ody  erect,  arms  folded. 

20.  Recover  :  Stoop  and  pick  up  racket,  resting  it  on  right 
ip,  left  hand  at  side. 

21.  Tenderness  :  Racket  held  over  heart,  handle  in  right 
;lfand,  left  hand  placed  over  face  of  racket ;    incline  the  body 

ightly  forward. 

22.  Victory  :  Racket  held  aloft,  left  foot  crossing  right  foot 
o|i  front  and  standing  on  tiptoes. 

23.  Wave  :    Wave  joyfully  around  the  head. 

I    24.  Sorrow  :    Right  elbow  supported  by  left  hand,  head  lean- 
lg  to  right,  resting  on  racket,  which  is  held  in  the  right  hand ; 
yes  closed. 
25,  Shoulder.    Racket  on  shoulder ;  8  counts, 


160  WERNER'S  READINGS 

26.  Break  Ranks  :  Front  row  falls  tack  in  pairs  into  back 
row,  which  breaks  apart  in  pairs  to  receive  them,  forming  one  line 
with  the  pairs  in  regular  order,  1  and  1,  2  and  2,  3  and  3,  4  and 
4,  5  and  5,  6  and  6.  Then  all  together  take  four  steps  back,  cap- 
tain to  the  side. 

27.  Salute  :  Rackets  on  right  shoulder,  2  counts  ;  then  ex- 
tend them  obliquely  to  the  right,  2  counts  ;  bring  forward  with  a 
graceful  waving  movement  and  place  under  left  arm,  8  counts. 

28.  Form  Rings  :  Take  four  steps  forward  and  form  two 
circles,  six  in  each,  each  one  holding  his  own  racket  with  one 
hand,  and  that  of  the  person  next  with  the  other,  rackets  held  out 
at  arm's  length. 

29.  Revolve  :  The  circle  at  the  left  takes  8  steps  around  tc 
the  right,  then  reverse,  taking  8  steps  to  the  left ;  while  the  circle 
at  the  right  takes  8  steps  to  the  left,  then  reverse,  taking  8  step? 

to  the  right.  j 

30.  Partners  :  Form  in  line  again,  in  pairs,  and  marcr 
around  the  stage.  When  in  the  middle  of  the  stage  the  firs] 
couple  face  each  other  and  form  an  arch,  with  their  rackets-H 
touching  at  arm's  length— above  them,  held  by  both  hands,  as  irj 
"London  Bridge."  The  second  couple  pass  under  them,  thei: 
rackets  held  directly  in  front  with  both  hands.  As  soon  as  the; 
are  through  they  raise  their  rackets,  making  a  second  arch.  Th< 
third  couple  pass  through  both  arches  and  make  a  third  arch 
then  the  fourth  couple,  making  a  fourth  arch,  followed  by  thj 
fifth  and  sixth  couples.  Then  the  first  couple  lower  their  rackets 
pass  through  five  arches  and  separate,  one  going  to  the  right 
the  other  to  the  left.  The  second  couple  then  pass  through  th 
remaining  arches  and  do  the  same,  followed  by  the  third,  f ourt] 
and  fifth  couples.  Then  the  sixth  drop  their  arms  and  follow 
These  two  lines  march  around  the  stage  twice,  going  in  opposit 
directions,  racket  on  shoulder.  The  third  time  they  meet,  th| 
couples  fall  together  and  march  off  the  stage,  holding  their  racket 
with  both  hands  on  their  heads. 


AND   RECITATIONS.  161 


THE  NIGHTINGALE. 


LOUIS   E.    VAX    XORMAX. 


TpiS  night  in  the  forest,  the  long  day  is  over, 

-*-     And  each  feathered  songster  has  gone  to  his  nest, 
And  even  the  sparrow,  that  pert  little  rover, 
Has  ceased  all  his  chatt'ring  and  sunk  into  rest. 
When  what  do  I  hear, 
So  sweet  and  so  clear, 
Away  to  the  West  ? 

The  melody  swells,  every  note  richly  blended, 
It  rises  and  falls  like  the  waves  of  the  sea, 
Now  high,  till  with  sweetness  the  heavens  seem  rended, 
And  then  like  the 'wind,  as  it  sighs  o'er  the  lea! 
Till  the  old  forest  round 
Seems  bathed  in  the  sound 
From  out  the  elm  tree. 

What  heavenly  singer  such  exquisite  trilling 

Dispenses  so  freely,  and  yet  hides  himself  ? 
How  lovely  the  form  of  the  being  who's  filling 
The  air  with  such  stores  of  melodious  wealth ! 
That  music  of  thine 
Is  almost  divine. 
Come,  show  thy  sweet  self. 

I  looked  in  the  elm  tree,  and  in  its  thick  cover, 
A  little  brown  creature  amid  the  boughs  green 
Was  filling  the  wood  till  it  seemed  to  run  over, 

With  praise  to  the  God  of  love,  felt  though  unseen. 
And  while  each  rich  note 
Swelled  up  from  its  throat, 
Stars  looked  on  the  scene. 


162  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  who  is  this  plain,  unassuming  musician, 

This  warbler  in  brown  with  his  Orphean  strain  ? 
0  Nightingale !  hid  'neath  that  garb  what  patrician 
Of  birds  so  harmoniously  sings  thy  refrain  ? 
Thy  voice  is  thy  dower, 
And,  bowed  'neath  its  power, 
We  own  thy  sweet  reign. 


CONSTERNATION. 


rpHE  housewife  woke  with  sudden  fright, 
-*-     About  the  hour  of  two, 
And,  trembling,  lay  with  gasping  breath, 
Not  knowing  what  to  do. 

All  sorts  of  plans  for  safety  sped 
Like  lightning  through  her  brain ; 

But  still  she  was  inanimate 
Held  fast  by  terror's  chain. 

Was  there  a  burglar  down  below, 

Eevealed  by  latch's  click,- 
That  made  her  heart  almost  stand  still 

And  every  fibre  sick  ? 

Was  creaking  step  upon  the  stair  ? 

Had  baby  ceased  to  breathe, 
That  she  should  take  this  Eussian  bath, 

Or  creeping  chills  receive  ? 

Was  smell  of  smoke  within  the  house  ? 

Had  she  forgot  her  prayers  ? 
Oh,  no,  she  simply  had  not  brought 

The  silver- ware  upstairs  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  163 


WHAT    LOTTIE    SAW. 


E.    L.    BKOWN. 


OTTIE  SMITH  lived  in  the  country.    She  had  been  an  errand 
at  a  neighbor's,  and  she  set  her  basket  on  the  floor  as  she 
ime  into  the  kitchen,  where  her  mother  was  frying  doughnuts. 

"Well,  daughter,  are  you  tired  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  pretty  tired/'  said  Lottie.  But  she  added,  smiling, 
While  I  was  gone,  mamma,  I  saw  twenty-five  of  the  prettiest 
ttle  kittens  you  ever  saw." 

'  Lottie  Smith  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  reprovingly. 
'  Eeally,  mamma,"  said  Lottie  ;  "  and  I  wish  you  could  see 
lem,  they  are  so  pretty  and  cunning." 

e  Twenty-five  kittens  are  a  great  many,  little  daughter,"  said 
3r  mother,  gravely.     "  Where  did  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  Over  at  Mrs.  Dunton's,  where  I  went  to  buy  the  eggs ;  and 
)w,  mamma,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  After  Mrs.  Dunton  had 
it  the  eggs  in  my  basket,  she  said  : 

"  '  Come  this  way  a  minute.     I  want  to  show  you  something.' 

"  So  she  took  me  into  the  woodshed,  and  there,  in  an  old  cheese 
>x,  were  five  lovely  little  kittens.  After  I  had  seen  them  long 
lough,  I  started  for  home,  and  Willie  met  me  just  by  the  well, 
id  said  : 

"  ( Oh,  Lottie  !  come  back  just  a  minute,  I  want  to  show  you 
mething.' 

"  So  he  took  me  in  at  the  back-shed  door,  and  showed  me  five 
inning  little  kittens  in  a  cheese  box. 

"In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Dunton  called  Willie,  and  I  started  for 
raie  again.    Grandpa  Dunton  met  me  by  the  side  steps.    He  said  : 

"  '  Why,  here's  Lottie  Smith  !  just  come  back,  child,  I  want  you 

see  something  we  have  in  the  shed.' 


164  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  So  I  went  back,  and  he  showed  me  five  kittens,  all  in  a  littl 
heap  in  a  cheese  box. 

"  Then  I  started  for  home  again,  and  got  as  far  as  the  gate 
when  Joe  met  me,  and  said  : 

"  '  Hello,  Lottie  Smith  !  you  are  just  the  gill  I  want  to  see. 
want  to  show  you  something.      Come  back  to  the  house  a  minute 

"So  I  went  back  with  him,  and  he  showed  me  five  fat  littli 
kittens  in  a  cheese  box. 

"  After  I  looked  at  them  I  said  good-by  to  Joe,  and  started  t< 
come  home  by  the  back  way.  And  Grandma  Dunton  met  mi 
going  down  the  garden-walk.     She  kissed  me,  and  said  : 

' ' '  How  bright  you  look,  my  dear  !  I  want  you  to  see  some 
thing  at  the  house.     Just  come  back  a  minute/ 

"So  she  took  me  back  and  showed  me  five  sleepy  little  kitten 
in  a  cheese  box. 

"  And  now,  mamma,"  said  Lottie,  triumphantly,  "didn't  I  set 
twenty-five  little  kittens  ?" 

Mamma's  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  said  :  "It  looks  a  good  dea 
as  if  you  did." 


THE   TURN    OF   THE   TIDE. 


KOSE   KAVANAGH. 


f~]  REEN  waves,  green  waves,  whose  thunder  woke 
^-^    Wild  music  'neath  the  deep  sea-wall, 
Till  every  fairy  echo  spoke 
From  Duan's  cave,  in  Donegal. 

My  little  nephew's  gleeful  face 
Was  like  the  sea-pink  swinging  nigh. 

As  leaving  my  safe-sheltered  place 
He  sprang  upon  a  rock  hard  by, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  165 

And  tossed  his  arms  above  his  head, 

And  sang  while  dancing  to  and  fro ; 
Then  one  wild  cry — he  fell  like  lead 

Down  "to  the  seething  gulf  below  ! 

That  frenzied  moment — ah  !   I  know 

Not  how  I  gained  the  water's  brink ; 
Nor  how  such  agony  of  woe 

Left  heart  and  brain  with  power  to  think. 

I  fought  the  boiling  surf,  and  watched 

Each  rising  wave  with  bated  breath  ; 
I  said:    "My  darling  may  be  snatched 

Even  yet  from  out  the  jaws  of  death." 

In  vain  my  watch  throughout  the  storm  ; 
When  hope  died  hard,  I  cried  to  God : 
"  Give  back  his  little  lifeless  form, 

And  I  will  bear  your  chastening  rod." 

Ten  hours  the  tide  had  still  to  stay ; 

Kneeling  I  watched  its  ebb  and  flow ; 
But  what  I  suffered  then  I  pray 

No  other  woman's  heart  may  know. 

And  once  within  a  quiet  pool 

I  saw  the  face  tbat  was  my  own 
All  aged,  shrunk  and  pitiful, 

The  hair  snow-white,  the  eyes  like  stone. 

At  last.... what  filled  that  narrow  space? 

......I  never  knew.     Two  kisses  fell 

Upon  my  sleeping,  tear-drenched  face : 

The  little  lad  I  loved  so  well 

Broke  my  bad  dream.     Oh  !   he  was  here, 

Living  and  laughing  ;  high  o'er  all 
God's  blessed  sun  was  shining  clear, 

And  we  were  far  from  Donegal ! 


166  WERNER'S  READINGS 


THE  CHRISTMAS   SHEAF. 


MRS.    A.    M.    TOMLINSOJT. 


T7VA.R  over  in  Norway's  distant  realm, 

-*-       That  land  of  ice  and  snow, 

Where  the  winter  nights  are  long  and  drear, 

And  the  North  winds  fiercely  blow, 
From  many  a  low-thatched  cottage  roof, 

On  Christmas  eve,  'tis  said, 
A  sheaf  of  grain  is  hung  on  high, 

To  feed  the  birds  o'erhead. 

In  years  gone  by,  on  Christmas  eve, 

When  the  day  was  nearly  o'er, 
Two  desolate,  starving  birds  flew  past 
A  humble  peasant's  door. 
"Look!  look!"  cried  one,  with  joyful  voice 

And  a  piping  tone  of  glee ; 
**  In  that  sheaf  there  is  plenteous  food  and  cheer, 
And  the  peasant  had  but  three. 
One  he  hath  given  to  us  for  food, 
And  he  hath  but  two  for  bread  ; 
But  he  gave  it  with  smiles  and  blessings, 
'For  the  Christ  Child's  sake,'  he  said." 

"  Come,  come,"  cried  the  shivering  little  mate, 
u  For  the  light  is  growing  dim  ; 
'Tis  time,  ere  we  rest  in  that  cosy  nest, 

To  sing  our  evening  hymn." 
And  this  was  the  anthem  they  sweetly  sang, 
Over  and  over  again  : 
"  The  Christ  Child  came  on  earth  to  bless 
The  birds  as  well  as  men." 


AND  RECITATIONS.  167 

Then  safe  in  the  snug,  warm  sheaf  they  dwelt, 

Till  the  long,  cold  night  was  gone, 
And  softly  and  clear  the  sweet  church  bells 

Rang  out  on  the  Christmas  dawn, 
When  down  from  their  covert,  with  fluttering  wings, 

They  flew  to  a  resting-place, 
As  the  humble  peasant  passed  slowly  by, 

With  a  sorrowful,  downcast  face. 
"  Homeless  and  friendless,  alas !  am  I," 

They  heard  him  sadly  say, 
"For  the  sheriff,"  (he  wept  and  wrung  his  hands) 
"  Will  come  on  New  Year's  day/' 

The  birdlings  listened  with  mute  surprise, 
"  'Tis  hard,"  they  gently  said ; 
"  He  gave  us  a  sheaf  of  grain  for  food, 

When  he  had  but  three  for  bread. 
We  will  pray  to  God,  He  will  surely  help 

This  good  man  in  distress ; " 
And  they  lifted  their  voices  on  high,  to  crave 

His  mercy  and  tenderness. 
Then  again  to  the  Christmas  sheaf  they  flew, 

In  the  sunlight,  clear  and  cold  ; 
"  Joy  !  joy  !  each  grain  of  wheat,"  they  sang, 
"  Is  a  shining  coin  of  gold. 

"  A  thousand  ducats  of  yellow  gold, 
A  thousand,  if  there  be  one ; 
0  master  !  the  wonderful  sight  behold 

In  the  radiant  light  of  the  sun." 
The  peasant  lifted  his  tear-dimmed  eyes 
To  the  shining  sheaf  o'erhead  : 
"'Tis  a  gift  from  the  loving  hand  of  God, 

And  a  miracle  wrought,"  he  said. 
*'  For  the  Father  of  all,  who  reigneth  o'er, 
His  children  will  ne'er  forsake, 
When  they  feed  the  birds  from  their  scanty  stoi?r 
For  the  blessed  Christ  Child's  sake." 


168  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"The  fields  of  kindness  bear  golden  grain/' 
Is  a  proverb  true  and  tried  ; 
Then  scatter  thine  alms,  with  lavish  hand, 

To  the  waiting  poor  outside ; 
And  remember  the  birds,  and  the  song  they  sang, 
When  the  year  rolls  round  again  : 
"The  Christ  Child  came  on  earth  to  bless 
The  birds  as  well  as  men." 


CORDELIE. 


BROTHER   PAUL,    0.  S.  P. 


rpHE  lordly  manor,  Cordelie,  stood  by  the  river  Tweed ; 
-*-      A  line  of  noble  ancestry,  renowned  in  word  and  deed, 
Had  graced  the  long  ancestral  line,  in  deeds  of  valor  tried ; 
There  still  remained  one  worthy  scion,  the  rest  in  glory  died. 

A  baby  boy,  scarce  four  years  old,  beside  the  manor  played  ; 
And  for  his  guardian,  watchful,  bold,  a  noble  mastiff  strayed 
His  father's  hope,  his  mother's  pride,  their  flaxen-headed  boy 
Roamed  carelessly,  the  dog  beside,  and  laughed  with  fearless  jo 

But  often  when  the  skies  are  bright  and  everything  looks  faj 
There  comes  a  chilling  frost  to  blight  the  plant  that  is  most  ra^3 
The  friend  that  loved  thee  purest,  best,  is  sure  the  first  to  go; 
The  voice  that  cheers  thy  aching  breast  is  soonest  hushed  in  wo  | 

The  fairy  boy  had  disappeared,  his  mother's  hopes  had  fled  ; 
His  agonized  father  feared  the  worst ;  his  pride  is  dead. 
And  in  his  burning  grief  he  cried  :    "  My  child,  young  Cordelie  jj 
I  wish  thy  father  long  had  died  before  that  this  should  be  ! " 

The  clan  now  roams  the  country  wide,  o'er  hill  and  dale  and  gle: 
To  find  some  trace  whereby  to  guide  the  knight  to  lead  his  men.  I J 


AND  RECITATIONS.  169 

^e  only  clue  from  north  to  south,  red  in  the  sunlight's  glare, 
Vas  hanging  from  the  mastiff's  mouth  a  bunch  of  human  hair. 

Lnd  then  the  chief  with  burning  soul,  and  heart  in  passion's  throe, 
Jried  out :  "  Enough  !  'tis  all  explained  ;  I  have- the  secret  now. 
"his  is  Llewellyn's  beard,  my  men  ;  I'll  lay  the  dastard  low ; 
'11  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  my  sword's  good  temper  show. 

f  Up,  faithful  followers,  in  might,  you  have  been  always  true  ; 
Ve'll  teach  the  villains  how  to  fight,  and  teach  them  dying,  too. 
?oo  long,  my  friends,  your  weapons  rust ;  now  lay  your  lances  bare  ; 
ly  arm  will  lead — our  cause  is  just,  we  have  no  other  care. 

'  The  pride  of  old  Llewellyn  Hall  we'll  trample  in  the  dust. 
.^o  arms  !  To  arms  !  nor  fear  to  fall ;  in  heaven  we  place  our  trust. 
Vithout  the  noise  of  horn  or  drum,  or  any  word  to  me, 
ilewellyn's  clan  has  basely  come  and  stole  young  Cordelie." 

?he  morrow  came,  saw  hosts  arrayed ;  on  each  side  spears  were 

bright, 
ilach  man  would  scorn  the  word  ' '  afraid,"  each  felt  he  championed 

right. 

^nd  foremost  of  the  clans  there  came  the  leaders,  strong  and  brave, 
Co  win  by  prowess  living  fame,  or  fill  a  soldier's  grave. 

'Yield  thee,  Llewellyn  ;  Cordelie  is  master  here  to-day; 
n  faith  I'll  bring  thee  to  thy  knee,  in  this  ungodly  fray. 
Deliver  up  my  child,  and  then  you  may  have  life  and  land ; 
Refusing,  thou  art  curst  of  men,  a  victim  to  my  hand." 

Thus  spoke  the  chieftain,  Cordelie,  and  bared  his  shining  sword ; 
mulewellyn  laughed  right  merrily,  but  answered  not  a  word. 
'  Dost  thou  not  speak  ?  where  is  my  child  ?  "   the  chieftain  asked 

once  more ; 
Sis  words  were  fierce,  his  heart  was  wild,  and  once  again  he  swore  : 

'By  all  that's  great  in  heaven  above,  thy  life  is  mine  to-day  ; 
k.  husband's  faith,  a  father's  love,  compel  my  hand  to  slay  ; 
8ut,  as  I  hope  in  dying  hour  for  mercy  from  my  God, 
if  thou  dost  yield  my  child,  my  power  will  never  stain  this  sod. 


170  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  But  if  thou  dost  refuse  to  yield,  my  vengeance  sure  will  fall ; 
I'll  stain  the  verdure  of  this  field  —  I'll  shed  the  blood  of  all." 
Llewellyn  dryly  smiled,  and  said,  and  saying  bent  him  low  : 
"  I  know  not  how  to  feel  afraid,  nor  how  to  fear  a  blow. 

"  Llewellyn's  lances  are  all  bared  to  stain  with  blood  this  clay ; 
And  he  has  come  full  weli  prepared  to  win  the  fight  to-day. 
But,  as  I  hope  for  mercy's  plan  my  faults  to  full  atone, 
I  hid  thee  meet  me,  man  to  man,  and  try  results  alone." 

And  turning  to  his  men  he  said  :  "  Prepare  to  leave  the  field  ; 
Obey  my  orders — 1  am  head — to  me  alone  you  yield. 
Trust  to  Llewellyn's  lance  to  right  the  wrong  that  is  his  own  ; 
Or  by  this  sword  I'll  change  the  fight,  to  guard  my  rival's  throne.'' 

Then  Cordelie  addressed  his  men  :  "  Leave  this  fair  cause  to  me. 
This  hour  the  green  and  smiling  glen  the  next  hour  red  must  be.* 
Up,  smiling,  came  brave  Cordelie,  and  showed  his  glittering  steel 
"  Thy  words,  Llewellyn,  say  to  me  they  are  the  thoughts  you  feel. 

"  Defend  Llewellyn's  name  and  dower,  for,  by  my  son's  sad  fate, 
This  steel  will  find  thy  soul  this  hour,  fresh  whetted  by  my  hate. 
Come   on ! "    and  with  the  words  the  crash  of  steel,  the  sparks 

appear 
In  living  flame,  as  lightnings  flash  in  summer-time  of  year. 

Stroke  followed   stroke,   and  gash    on  gash — Llewellyn's  on   his 

knee  ! 
But  still  their  steels'  good  temper  flash  pure  liquid  fire,  a  sea. 
"  Yield  thee,  Llewellyn,  to  thy  fate,  and  yield  my  son  to  me, 
Yield  ere  it  come  to  be  too  late."   "  I  never  yield,"  quoth  he. 

And  saying  this,  with  giant  strength  he  made  a  horrid  thrust ; 
It  reached  the  heart  of  Cordelie,  who  now  must  bite  the  dust, 
And  bending  o'er  the  prostrate  form,  he  raised  the  drooping  head 
Of  him  whose  life-blood  still  was  warm,  but  soon  he  must  be  dead. 

"  0  Cordelie  !  brave  Cordelie,  would  that  we  never  met, 

Rest  thy  faint  head  upon  my  knee,  thine  eye's  bright  lustre's  set. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  171 

Thou  wast  too  brave,  too  wild,  too  rash,  too  fond  of  war's  false 

charms  ; 
Too  dearly  didst  thou  love  the  child  now  in  his  mother's  arms." 

My  child  Vs gasped  sinking  Cordelie,  "  My  dear  boy  safe  !  depart ! 
i  And  bring  him  quickly  here  to  me  to  press  him  to  my  heart ; 
To  print  my  lips  upon  his  cheek,  and  see  his  lustrous  eye 
To  feel  his  breath  and  hear  him  speak,  and  bless  him  ere  I  die. 

\*  You  took  my  child,  Llewellyn  ?  "    "  No.    It  was  not  willed  by  me 

As  I  live,  and  must  one  day  go  to  judgment,  Cordelie  ! " 

"How  came  it  then?"     "A  stupid  guide  mistook  his  will  for 

mine  ; 
The  wretch  robbed  us  of  our  pride,  mistook  my  hall  for  thine." 

"  Llewellyn,  I  forgive  thee  now  ;  and  ask  thee  to  forgive  ; 

Take  back  this  hair,  it  suits  thy  brow  ;  and  live,  Llewellyn,  live  I" 

"What  hair,  in  God's  dear  name?"     "'Tis  here:  in  the  dog's 

mouth  'twas  found, 
Held  tight,  torn  from  your  beard,  that's  clear  ;  dead  the  brute  lay 

on  th'  ground." 

"It  is  not  mine,  that  grizzly  hair,"  amazed,  Llewellyn  said. 

['  I  saved  thy  child  from  death,  I  swear  !     The  good   dog  died 

instead  ; 
In  horrid,  ghastly,  deathly  strife,  thy  mastiff  and  a  bear ; 
rThe  latter  fought  to  take  a  life,  the  former  fought  to  spare. 

"  With  deadly  aim  my  arrow  sought  the  beast's  protruding  head; 
The  noble  mastiff  at  his  throat  received  the  shaft  instead, 
And  in  his  mouth  that  bunch  of  hair,  plucked  from  the  savage  beast, 
Which  safely  sought  its  distant  lair  ;  to  live,  the  dog  had  ceased." 

"  0  God  !  with  grief  my  heart  is  wild  ;  what  ails  my  throat  ?  'tis 

well! 
My  love  to  fair  Cordelia,  and  to  my  child  !  farewell ! " 
"  Farewell !   farewell,  my  honest  friend,  a  long  and  last  farewell ! 
May  heaven  bless  your  nearing  end,  again  farewell !  farewell  J " 


ITS  V/ERNER'S  READINGS 


LONG  AGO. 


LIBBIE    C.   BAER. 


O 


N  her  lap  gran'ma  did  hoi*  me, 
Smoothed  my  apron  down — jes'  so ; 
Had  me  fol'  my  ban's,  then  tol'  me — 
She's  a  May  queen — long  ago; 
Wen  they  had  May  queens,  you  know, 
Long  ago,  long,  l-o  n-g  ago. 

Grandma's  hair  is  thin,  an'  so  white, 
An'  her  face  is — puckered  so; 

But  she's  sweeter,  by  ennff  sight, 
Than  some  younger  folks  I  know. 
Don't  you  see  how  dandeli'ns  blow — ■ 
Turn  their  gold  all  into  snow  ? 
Gran'ma's  hair — it  done  jes'  so, 
Long  ago,  long,  1-o-n-g  ago. 

Hair  wuz  golden,  like  the  sunlight, 
Eyes  wuz  blue,  an'  cheeks  wuz  red  ; 

An'  her  skin  wuz  smooth  an'  so  white— 
That  is  jes'  w'at  gran'ma  said. 
All  in  white  from  tip  to  toe, 
She  was  May  queen,  long  ago, 
Long  ago,  long,  1-o-n-g  ago. 

Jes'  like  fairies  in  green  bowers, 

Singin',  dancin'  on  the  green, 
Pickin'  out  the  brightest  flowers 

Fur  to  deck  their  little  queen. 

Lads  and  lassies,  round  they  go, 

Dancin',  singin',  bowin'  low, 

Long  ago,  long,  1-o-n-g  ago. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  1?3 

Gran'ma  stops.     "  I'm  tired,"  says  she  ; 
"  Now  go  away,  dearie."    An'  I  go — 
But  it's  queer  w'at  she  can  see  now, 

Lookin'  far  off  an'  sighin'  so  ; 

An'  I  hear  her  whisperin'  low  : 
"  Polly,  Betsey,  John  an'  Jo  ; 

Gone,  all  gone,  so  long  ago, 

Long  ago,  long,  1-o-n-g  ago." 


RESCUED. 


T  OW  hang  the  clouds  like  a  threatening  pall, 
-*-^     While  now  and  then  large  raindrops  fall, 
The  wild  wind  whistles  through  the  trees, 
Stripped  of  their  leaves  by  the  autumn  breeze, 
And  soughs  ;  the  echoes  of  the  distant  storm 
Sound  'midst  the  oak-trees'  rough,  gaunt  form. 
The  stream,  which  through  the  summer's  day 
Babbled  and  leaped,  as  a  child  at  play, 
Now  fiercely  swollen,  rushes  down, 
With  headlong  haste  and  sullen  frown, 
Bearing  upon  its  foam-flecked  breast 
The  signs  of  turmoil  and  unrest. 

Hark  !     What  was  that  ?     A  plaintive  cry  ! 

A  figure  outlined  on  the  sky, 

A  girlish  form  !     What  brings  her  here, 

Far  from  her  home  and  friends  so  dear  ? 

See  how  with  straining  eyes  she  peers, 

Those  eyes  so  bright,  now  dimmed  by  tears, 

Into  the  muddy  vortex,  where 

A  shapeless  mass  drifts  here  and  there  ! 


IU  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Who  does  not  know  what  'tis  to  lose 

A  long-loved  friend  ?     What  grief  ensues, 

What  sorrow,  aye,  what  bitter  pain, 

Wells  forth  when  snaps  life's  fragile  chain  ! 

Anguish  like  this  must  surely  now 

Cause  those  hot  tears  which  wring  her  brow, 

As  standing  by  the  river's  brink, 

She  sees  that  loved  form  rise  and  sink. 

Ah,  heavens  !    'Tis  gone  !     Can  no  one  save 

Or  help  ? 

A  plunge  beneath  the  wave  ! 
A  brave  heart  battling  with  the  stream  ! 
Safe  !  safe  at  last !     She  gives  one  scream 
Of  wild  delight,  and  runs  to  pat 
Her  dog  for  fetching  out  her — hat. 


THANKSGIVING    EVE. 


A    TEUE    INCIDENT. 


*1    |~AND  in  hand,  through  the  city  streets, 

-* — *-    As  the  chilly  November  twilight  fell, 

Two  childish  figures  walked  up  and  down — 

The  bootblack  Teddie,  and  his  sister  Nell. 

With  wistful  eyes  they  peer  in  the  shops, 

Where  dazzling  lights  from  the  windows  shine 

On  golden  products  from  farm  and  field, 
And  luscious  fruits  from  every  clime. 

0  Teddie,"  said  Nell,  "let's  play  for  to-morrow 
These  things  are  ours,  and  let's  suppose 

We  can  choose  whatever  we  want  to  eat ; 
It  might  come  true,  perhaps,  who  knows  ? " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  175 

Two  pinched  little  faces  press  the  pane, 
And  eagerly  plan  for  the  morrow's  feast 

Of  dainties  their  lips  will  never  touch, 
Forgetting  their  hunger,  awhile,  at  least. 

The  pavement  was  cold  for  shoeless  feet ; 
Ted's  jacket  was  thin ;  he  shivered  and  said, 
"  Let's  go  to  a  place  and  choose  some  clothes." 
"Agreed  !"  said  Nell,  and  away  they  sped, 

To  a  furrier's  shop  ablaze  with  light, 

In  its  fancied  warmth  they  place  their  hands, 

And  play  their  scanty  garments  are  changed 
For  softest  fur  from  far-off  lands. 

"  A  grand  Thanksgiving  we'll  have  !"  cried  Nell, 
"These  make-believe  things  seem  almost  true; 
I've  'most  forgot  how  hungry  I  was, 

And,  Teddy,  I'm  almost  warm,  aren't  you  ?" 

0  happy  hearts  that  rejoice  to-day, 

In  all  the  bounty  the  season  brings, 
Have  pity  on  those  who  vainly  strive 

To  be  warmed  and  fed  by  imaginings  ! 


THE   SONG    OF   THE    WIND. 


T'VE  a  great  deal  to  do,  a  great  deal  to  do  ; 

■  Don't  speak  to  me,  children,  I  pray  ; 

These  little  boys'  hats  must  be  blown  off  their  heads, 
And  the  little  girls'  bonnets  away. 

There  are  bushels  of  apples  to  gather  to-day, 

And  oh,  there's  no  end  to  the  nuts  ! 
O'er  many  long  roads  I  must  travel  away, 

And  many  by-lanes  and  short  cuts. 


176  WERNER'S  READINGS 

There  are  thousands  of  leaves  lying  lazily  here 
That  needs  must  be  whirled  round  and  round  ! 

A  rickety  house  wants  to  see  me,  I  know, 
In  the  most  distant  part  of  the  town. 

There  are  signs  to  be  creaked,  and  doors  to  be  slammed, 
Loose  window  blinds,  too,  must  be  shaken  ! 

^  hen  you  know  all  the  business  I  must  do  to-day, 
You  will  see  how  much  trouble  I've  taken. 

I  saw  some  ships  leaving  the  harbor  to-day 

So  I'll  e'en  go  and  help  them  along, 
And  flap  the  white  sails,  and  howl  through  the  shrouds, 

And  join  in  the  sailor-boys'  song. 

Then  I'll  mount  to  the  clouds,  and  away  they  will  sail 
On  their  gorgeous  wings  through  the  bright  sky ; 

I  bow  to  no  mandate  save  only  to  Him 
Who  reigneth  in  glory  on  high. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE   SOLENT. 


Fkedekic   Lyster. 


rpHE  wild  winds  raved,  the  tempest  roared,  the  waves  rolled 
-*-     mountains  high — 

It  seemed  to  every  soul  on  board  as  though  earth,  sea,  and  sky 
In  one  commingled  mass  were  blent  and  welded  by  the  gale ; 
Save  when  the  quivering  lightning  rent  the  darkness,  as  a  veil. 
Our  boats  were  gone,  and  one  by  one,  the  men  swept  from  the 

wheel; 
On  beam-end  thrown,  we  lay  alone  off  Kingsdowne,.  iiard  by 

Deal.  .  ;,,-,. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  177 

A  dull,  deep  thud  !    a  stifled  roar,  a  crushing,  tearing  grind, 
A  shock — a  crash  !      The   ship's  ashore.     A  prey  to  waves  and 

wind. 
The  seas  break  o'er  her  fore  and  aft,  the  decks  are  swept  quite 

clear ; 
No   planks   nor  spars   to   build  a   raft   are   left — we  shrink  with 

fear. 
The  lightning's  flash,  the  thunder's  crash  shakes  her  from  truck 

to  keel ; 
The  waves  tumultuous  splash  and   dash — off  Kingsdowne,  hard 

by  Deal. 

We  were  just  forty  souls  and  seven,  both  passengers  and  crew ; 
With  cries  for  help  we  weary  heaven,  no  help  appears  in  view ; 
"We  cling  to  ropes  along  the  deck,  and  strain  our  aching  sight 
Through  fog  and  mist — a  helpless  wreck  the  good  ship  lay  that 

night. 
A  tiny  spark  glints  through  the  dark,  we  watch  it  roll  and  reel, 
'  The    life-boat's    out ! "   we   wildly    shout,   from    Kingsdowne, 

hard  by  Deal. 

Now  poised  upon  the  billow's  crest,  now  whelmed  in  the  deep, 
She    struggles    on — no    pause,    no   rest,   she   climbs    the   wat'ry 

steep. 
She  nears,  but  cannot  make  us,   the  current  runs  so  sore  ; 
Must  death,   then,  overtake  us,  so  near  our  native  shore  ? 
Aboard  that  boat — could  we  but  float    a   line — hearts  true  as 

steel, 
"Wait  us  to  save  from  wat'ry  grave,    off    Kingsdowne,    hard  by 

Deal. 

Of  all  the  dunnage  round  the  deck  naught  is  there  left  save  one 
Old  anchor  buoy,  itself  a  wreck,  with  honest  service  done. 
The  mate  he  hitched  it  to  a  rope  and  hove  it  o'er  the  side  ; 
God  help  us — 'tis  our  only  hope,  may  He  its  course  now  guide. 
It  nears  them — nay,  'tis  swept  away,  again  the  line  we  reel — 
Again  'tis  cast,  our  hearts  beat  fast,  off  Kingsdowne,  hard- by  Deal. 


178  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Twice  has  the  old  float  missed  its  mark,  twice  was  it  hurled  away, 

Twice  have  we  lost  it  in  the  dark,  twice  by  the  ghastly  ray 

Of  bluelight,  burnt  aboard  that  barque,  we  watched  it  whelmed 

and  whirled, 
Our  refuge  sole,  our  only  ark  of  safety  in  this  world. 
See  !  see  !  'tis  caught — fast  round  the  thwart  'tis  hitched — a  joyous 

peal, 
A  clamorous  shout  rings  wildly  out,  off  Kingsdowne,  hard  by  Deal. 

God  bless  the  life-boat  and  its  crew,  its  coxswain  brave  and  old  ! 
And  Jarvis  Arnold  is  his  name,  sprung  from  those  vikings  bold, 
Who  made  the  land  and  sea  their  slaves,  as  likewise  we  do  too. 
While  still  Britannia  rules  the  waves  and  the  stormy  winds  do  blow, 
And  that  old  cork  float  that  safety  brought  we'll  hold  in  honor 

leal, 
And  it  shall  grace  the  chiefest  place  in  Kingsdowne,  hard  by  Deal. 


WHAT     IS     TO-MORROW  ? 


A  BRIGHT  little  boy  with  laughing  face, 
Whose  every  motion  was  full  of  grace, 
Who  knew  no  trouble  and  feared  no  care, 
Was  the  light  of  our  household — the  youngest  there. 

He  was  too  young — this  little  elf — 
With  troublesome  questions  to  vex  himself ; 
But  for  many  days  a  thought  would  rise 
And  bring  a  shade  to  the  dancing  eyes. 

He  went  to  one  whom  he  thought  more  wise 

Than  any  other  beneath  the  skies, 
"  Mother," — 0  word  that  makes  the  home  ! — 
f*  Tell  me,  when  will  to-morrow  come  ? " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  179 

"  It  is  almost  night,"  the  mother  said, 
"  And  time  for  my  boy  to  be  in  bed  ; 
te  When  you  wake  up  and  it's  day  again, 
It  will  be  to-morrow,  my  darling,  then." 

The  little  boy  slept  through  all  the  night, 
But  woke  with  the  first  red  streak  of  light ; 
He  pressed  a  kiss  on  his  mother's  brow, 
And  whispered,  "Is it  to-morrow  now  ?". 

"■  No,  little  Eddie,  this  is  to-day  ; 
To-morrow  is  always  one  night  away." 
He  pondered  awhile,  but  joys  came  fast, 
And  this  vexing  question  quickly  passed. 

But  it  came  again  with  the  shades  of  night ; 
"  Will  it  be  to-morrow  when  it  is  light  ?" 
From  years  to  come  he  seemed  care  to  borrow, 
He  tried  so  hard  to  catch  to-morrow. 

"  You  cannot  catch  it,  my  dear  little  Ted ; 
Enjoy  to-day,"  the  mother  said  ; 

"  Some  wait  for  to-morrow  through  many  a  year- 
It  always  is  coming,  but  never  is  here." 


CHRISTMAS  FLOWERS. 


ADELAIDE  ANNE  PROCTEH. 


rpHE  earth  is  so  bleak  and  deserted, 

-*-     So  cold  the  winds  blow, 

That  no  bud  or  no  blossom  will  venture 

To  peep  from  below  ; 
But,  longing  for  springtime,  they  nestle 

Deep  under  the  snow. 


180  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Oh,  in  May  how  we  honored  Our  Lady, 

Her  own  month  of  flowers  ! 
How  happy  we  were  with  our  garlands 

Through  all  the  spring  hours! 
All  her  shrines  in  the  church  by  the  wayside, 

Were  made  into  bowers. 

And  in  August — her  glorious  Assumption — 

What  feast  was  so  bright ! 
What  clusters  of  virginal  lilies, 

So  pure  and  so  white  ! 
Why,  the  incense  could  scarce  overpower 

Their  perfume  that  night. 

And  through  her  dear  feasts  of  October 

The  roses  bloomed  still ; 
Our  baskets  were  laden  with  flowers, 

Her  vases  to  fill — 
Oleanders,  geraniums  and  myrtles, 

We  chose  at  our  will. 

And  we  know  when  the  Purification, 

Her  first  feast,  comes  round, 
The  early  spring  flowers  to  greet  it, 

Just  opening  are  found  ; 
And  pure,  white  and  spotless,  the  snowdrop 

Will  pierce  the  dark  ground. 

And  now  in  this  dreary  December, 

Our  glad  hearts  are  fain 
To  see  if  earth  comes  not  to  help  us ; 

We  seek  all  in  vain ; 
Not  the  tiniest  blossom  is  coming 

Till  spring  breathes  again. 

And  the  bright  feast  of  Christmas  is  dawning, 
And  Mary  is  blest ; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  181 

For  now  she  will  give  us  her  Jesus, 

Our  Dearest,  our  Best, 
And  see  where  she  stands,  the  Maid-Mother, 

Her  Babe  on  her  breast ! 

And  not  one  poor  garland  to  give  her, 

And  yet  now  behold 
How  the  kings  bring  their  gifts — myrrh  and  incense.. 

And  bars  of  pure  gold ; 
And  the  shepherds  have  brought  for  the  Baby 

Some  lambs  from  their  fold. 

He  stretches  His  tiny  hands  toward  us, 

He  brings  us  all  grace ; 
And  look  at  His  Mother  who  holds  Him — 

The  smile  on  her  face 
Says  they  welcome  the  humblest  gifts 

In  the  manger  we  place. 

Where  love  takes  let  love  give,  and  so  doubt  not; 

Love  counts  but  the  will, 
And  the  heart  has  its  flowers  of  devotion 

No  winter  can  chill ; 
They  who  cared  for  "good-will"  that  first  Christina* 

Will  care  for  it  still. 

In  the  chaplet  on  Jesus  and  Mary, 

From  our  hearts  let  us  call ; 
At  each  Ave  Maria  we  whisper 

A  rosebud  shall  fall, 
And  at  each  Gloria  Patri  a  lily, 

The  crown  of  them  all ! 


182  WERNER'S  READINGS 


MADONNA  AT   PALOS. 


MABEL  E.   HUGHES. 


[The  Publishers  of  this  book  have  Issued  "Madonna  at  Palos"  arranged 
as  a  musical  recitation,  in  sheet  music  form,  with  a  specially  designed  title- 
page.       Price,     $.60.] 


IN  the  grand  old  city  of  Palos 
There  was  building  a  mansion  fair, 
And  artists  and  painters  and  sculptors 

Were  fashioning  beauties  rare, 
While  each  seemed  to  vie  with  the  others 

To  see  what  most  beautiful  thing 
Could  be  painted  or  carved  by  the  workmen, 
In  nave  and  chapel  and  wing. 

One  day  in  the  midst  of  the  building, 

There  came  to  that  temple  door 
An  aged  and  infirm  painter 

Who  was  homeless  and  friendless  and  poor; 
And  he  begged  of  the  master-builder 

That  he  give  him  some  painting  to  do, 
He  cared  not  where  in  the  building, 

He  cared  not  if  hidden  from  view. 

"O  master,"  he  tremblingly  pleaded, 

"I  ask  not  a  great  boon  from  you, 
I  only  crave  some  little  corner 

Where  I  my  painting  may  do. 
'Tis  long  since  my  hands  have  touched  canvas, 

But,  master,  you  need  have  no  fear 
That  I  will  blemish  its  beauty, 

Ah,  no !  I  would  prize  it  too  dear." 

But  the  old  master  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders. 

"We  have  workmen  enough,"  said  he, 
"And  their  work  we  have  often  tested, — 

I  have  need  of  none  like  thee," 


AND   RECITATIONS  183 

The  old  man  stood  in  silence, 

Then,  "O  master,  for  love  of  God, 
Give  me  some  little  spot  for  my  painting, 

For  this  many  a  mile  I've  trod. 

"O  master,  I  lay  as  if  dying, 

And  I  prayed  to  the  One  I  adore, 
That  she  plead  with  the  life-giving  Saviour 

To  spare  me  to  paint  just  once  more; 
And  I  promised  that  if  in  His  wisdom 

He  would  give  me  my  life  again, 
I  would  use  all  my  powers  for  the  glory 

Of  the  most  holy  cause  among  men. 

"And  one  night  in  the  midst  of  my  slumbers, 

I  thought  that  I  heard  a  sweet  voice 
That  bade  me  no  longer  be  mournful, 

But  in  the  sweet  Virgin  rejoice;  - 
For,  in  a  neighboring  country, 

Was  the  city  of  Palos,  where 
There  was  building  for  her  a  temple, 

And  I  might  work  for  her  there. 

"So  quickly  I  rose  up  and  hastened 

To  the  city  of  which  I  was  told, 
E'en  unto  your  city  of  Palos, 

Your  beautiful  city  so  old. 
So,  master,  you  see  why  I  beg  you 

To  grant  me  the  little  I  ask, 
To  accomplish  my  vow  to  the  Mother, — • 

I  implore  you  to  give  me  this  task." 

So,  up  in  the  darkest  corner, 

Almost  out  of  the  light  of  day, 
He  was  given  a  piece  of  canvas 

That  the  artists  had  cast  away. 
Here  from  earliest  dawn  of  morning, 

Here  till  fall  of  the  shades  of  night, 
He  plied  his  brush  on  the  canvas, 

As  long  as  the  sun  gave  light. 


184  WBRNBR'S   READINGS 

At  last,  his  loved  labor  was  finished, 

The  painting  was  now  complete, 
And,  behold !  on  the  canvas  was  pictured 

The  face  of  the  Virgin  sweet. 
As  the  vesper-bells  slowly  were  chiming, 

The  old  man  knelt  humbly  in  prayer, 
To  ask  of  the  Holy  Mother 

That  she  bless  his  labors  there, 

That  great  good  might  be  done  to  some  sinner 

Who  had  wandered  out  into  the  cold, 
That  his  picture  might  draw  one  to  heaven, 

Safe  back  to  the  heavenly  fold. 
Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  painting. 

W^hat  was  it  that  held  his  .gaze  there  ? 
Was  this  but  a  manifestation, 

That  she  quickly  would  answer  his  prayer? 

For  the  work  that  was  shrouded  in  darkness 

In  the  corner  of  deepest  gloom 
Now  shone  with  a  wonderful  beauty 

Whose  radiance  filled  the  room. 
And  the  face  that  so  long  was  hidden 

Seemed  to  smile  on  the  artist  there, 
As  a  beam  from  the  sun's  dying  glory 

Lit  the  labor  of  love  so  fair. 

As  he  saw  on  the  face  of  the  painting 

The  sun  resting  soft  on  her  brow, 
He  cried:    "O  thou  beautiful  Mother, 

I  could  die,  if  thou  wilt,  even  now; 
For  I  know  that  my  prayer  will  be  answered, 

That  some  little  good  will  be  done, 
Some  wanderer  brought  to  repentance, 

Brought  back  safe  to  Thee  and  thy  Son." 

Again  'tis  the  hour  for  the  vespers. 

A  heartbroken  woman  comes  in 
To  pray  to  the  Holy  Mother 

To  help  her  forget  the  sin 


AND   RECITATIONS  185 

And  the  troubles  and  sad  affliction, 

The  sorrow  and  pain  and  care 
That  pursue  her  from  morning  till  evening, 

Follow  her  everywhere. 

For  the  boy  of  her  hopes  and  ambitions, 

The  boy  of  her  love  and  her  prayer, 
Had  wandered  away  from  the  hearthstone, 

Had  drifted  away  from  her  care; 
And  his  mother  had  prayed  and  had  pleaded, 

But  her  pleadings  had  all  been  in  vain, 
For  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  when  she  censured, 

And  left  her  sad  heart  still  in  pain. 

Her  heart-strings  were  now  almost  breaking, 

As  she  entered  the  temple  of  love, 
And  she  sat  down  close  inside  the  portals, 

And  lifting  her  eyes  up  above, 
She  saw  there  the  face  of  the  painting, 

As  the  sun  rested  soft  on  her  brow, 
And  the  lips  seemed  to  smile  on  the  listener, 

As  she  said  in  a  voice  sweet  and  low : 

"O  Mary,  thou  mother  of  Jesus, 

Thy  Son  was  all  righteous  and  true, 
But  mine,  O  most  merciful  mother, 

I  come  to  seek  comfort  from  you, 
For  my  heart-strings  are  now  almost  breaking 

With  grief  that  is  fearful  to  bear ! 
O  thou  beautiful  mother  of  Jesus, 

Do  help  me  !     I  almost  despair  !" 

As  she  thus  sadly  prayed  to  the  Virgin 

The  vesper-chimes  slowly  were  rung, 
And  the  hymn  to  the  holy  Madonna, 

The  song  to  Our  Lady,  was  sung. 
Still  the  light  rested  soft  on  the  painting 

As  the  low,  sweet  melody  fell, 
And  the  lips  of  the  mother  seemed  saying: 

"Weep  not,  for  all  yet  will  be  well." 


186  WBRNER'S  READINGS 

Years  passed ;  and  again  on  one  evening 

A  stranger  passed  in  through  those  doors. 
On  his  face  were  large  scars  and  deep  wrinkles 

That  told  not  of  honor  in  wars. 
They  told  not  of  triumph  in  battle, 

But  of  crime,  dissipation  and  sin, 
And  he  bent  his  head  low  as  he  entered, 

And  sighed  for  what  ought  to  have  been. 

He  sat  down  close  inside  the  portals, 

Led  there  by — he  could  not  tell  what, 
But  some  irresistible  impulse 

Had  drawn  him  to-night  to  that  spot. 
'     He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  Virgin, 

As  the  sun  lay  in  peace  on  her  face, 
And  he  dropped  in  a  seat  as  if  stricken 

By  a  hand,  though  unseen  in  the  place. 

For  the  face  made  him  think  of  his  mother, 

That  mother  whose  pleading  he'd  spurned' 
And  now  she  had  passed  on  to  heaven, 

To  the  glory  she  truly  had  earned. 
As  he  sat  there  and  gazed  at  the  painting, 

He  remembered  all  she  had  said, 
And  his  eyes,  which  so  long  had  been  tearless, 

Were  filled  as  he  thought  of  her  dead. 

Quickly  down  on  his  knees  went  that  culprit, 

And  he  prayed,  as  he  never  had  done, 
That  the  Virgin  would  make  intercession 

For  him  to  her  pardoning  Son ; 
And  the  choir  in  heaven  was  singing 

Their  hymns  of  thanksgiving  and  praise 
For  the  one  guilty  sinner  who'd  severed 

His  life  from  his  old  wicked  ways. 

But  the  choir  in  the  temple  was  singing 
Their  hymn  to  the  Virgin  again, 

And  it  swelled  and  rolled  out  in  its  fulness 
As  if  angels  had  joined  the  refrain. 


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